False Prophets
by spade-of-hearts
Summary: Safely rescued from the Hunger Games, the tributes begin their lives at the rebel base. Their safe haven may not be as safe as they think, though, as questions surround them and their true purpose in the war. Who can they trust? When will they finally understand their real worth? A sequel to The Truth of the Matter. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Merry Christmas, happy holidays, everyone! Hope you're having a great break! Time to kick up those feet and read some fanfiction!**

 **Preliminary information for you to peruse: This is a sequel. So if you're looking for the first book, hightail it down to my profile and check out The Truth of the Matter! I may be biased, but I think you'll enjoy it a lot.**

 **Another side thing - it's kind of amazing that you enjoyed the first book so much you came back for more.** ** _Wow._** **To me that's incredible. Thank you** ** _so_** **much!**

 **All thanks aside, are you ready for the first chapter of False Prophets? Who else is pumped? (Me. Totally me.)**

 **With no further ado. Read on!**

 **(For any newcomers - which, if you read the preliminary information, why are you still here? - read on is my catchphrase. It's a fact now.)**

Chapter One – Thrace

"They're coming. Escorted by our best infantry men. Be ready." One of my delegates sends a message from a wall port and I read the scrolling text. Today's meeting will be held with only the tributes and Wu. These kids deserve to understand.

Yesterday was messy, and not just because of the soldiers lost. Even now I feel the grief like a curtain drape over the rebel base. _They should not have died. The Light boy was powerful, and they knew that, but you could have changed that._ The ceremony is today, and I do not plan to attend. Rebels die every day. _But you could have changed these deaths. This one is on you._

The tributes have been properly cared for and nursed back to health, but minimal explanation has been given to them, on my orders. Thankfully, they accepted their state and have not tried to force answers from their caregivers. Today they will understand. Yet how can I explain?

There is a knock at the door and I look up suddenly. "Enter." My tone is even and steady, emotionally neutral. That should keep the Fire boy at bay. We'll be trying to read each other all of the meeting, I assume. If he is as good of a trader as they say I'll have to constantly be on guard.

With an almost imperceptible creak the door swings open, held by an infantry soldier, a squad leader, dressed in full assault armor, guns slung across his back and strapped to his legs. The show of power is overwhelming and I make a mental note to chide Watson later, but I understand his reasoning. The tributes will be wondering about the rebels, how strong they are, if they are a real threat to Borg. If the Arena storming wasn't proof enough, what will be? The tributes follow the soldier, looking small and meek in comparison, but holding themselves with admirable dignity. Another infantry man follows them in and closes the door, standing by it with one hand loosely held at his side, close to his semi-automatic pistol in its holster. Taking no chances.

"Welcome – former tributes, present guests. Take a seat." I instruct, and each of them finds a chair quietly. Observing all of their faces, I see many shades of emotion – some scared, some apprehensive, some angry. Finally I meet the eyes of the Fire boy and we hold each other's gaze steadily for a second, each like a solid block of stone, and I fully admire the power of the boy's skill. Then Kai slowly lowers his gaze, and in that moment I can read him. _You have saved me, and I am grateful. You can still do more for me, something I desperately want and need, and so I will submit myself to you for now._ My lips twitch up in a smile and I turn my attention to the other tributes, then smile openly.

"You have lots of questions," I begin, and the Earth boy snorts.

"That's an understatement! What happened? The soldiers were attacking us, and the Arena, and… And… What?"

"What, indeed." I agree gravely, and the Darkness girl barely smiles. "First, let me explain from the beginning. You have all had Borg briefing?" Borg briefing, cleverly dubbed by one of the psychologist squad members, was the explanation of Borg and the twisted depths of his dictatorship. Thankfully, the tributes understood it easily and accepted it, even those who were living under the lies of Borg himself. They nod in response and Lloyd, Garmadon's son, speaks.

"How could he do all of those things and we didn't notice. K-killing all of those people…" The boy shudders and I look in his direction.

"Covering things up is one of Borg's specialties. That you'll understand later, once you've been exposed to the deepest, darkest secrets of his reign." My answer is obviously cyclical, but Lloyd just nods in agreement. I glance at Kai again and see him watching me. He judges my look and drops his eyes to the table, frowning.

"Borg has often sent troublesome teenagers to the Hunger Games to dispose of them easily and without receiving obvious questions. The students are in classes, have friends in school, and those ties are often severed later in life. In the Complex families often have fewer friends than they did during their school years, and although the ties in the Complex are many, the ties in school are even more so. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir." The Lightning boy pipes up, drumming his fingers on the tabletop with restless energy.

"Excellent. This year many students who had caused for irregularities in his system were being disposed of. Here at base we realized this, realized how this crop of tributes were especially beneficial, and added a few more of our choosing to the mix, and Borg put a few of his own. Some were random, yes. But you, my friends, are the best and brightest of them all."

"So we're recruits for you. How do you know we'll join you?" Cole, the Earth boy, snaps back. His arms are crossed and he looks angry and scared. Scared children are easy to bend, though.

"We can send you back to Borg. You won't know the coordinates of our base and honestly he won't believe you when you tell him about us. You'll be forced to parade in front of the Complex as Borg's perfect puppet, following his every order willingly, and you can never drop your charade, _never_ , because if you do he'll kill someone you love. Then what? You'll wish you were back here with us, won't you? And that's if the citizens don't tear you apart too." I take a breath, compose myself, then take a small remote and press play. On the back wall of the room the live Complex feed shows the patchless rebellion in full sway, which has only grown in magnitude since the first day, and I can hear the tributes gasp.

"Thank your friend from Fire for this, comrades. They call themselves the patchless and are rooting for the end of the elements. We used our hackers to keep Borg from switching the feed to another part of the Games and now this has happened." I wave a hand at the screen. "The Complex is in disarray, the Nindroids can't control them, and the patchless are getting support."

"From who?" The Lightning boy asks, gawking at the screen.

"Us." I simply reply. "Once the battle at the Complex is over, won by the citizens, we group with them and our forces and take the battle to him."

"Borg Tower." The Ice boy says, a stunned look on his face.

"You might as well know what you're signing up for, boys and girls. We're going to overthrow dear old President Borg, and you're going to help us." Like I expect, each of the tributes bursts out with questions, eyes wide and incredulous.

"But Borg has superior manpower and weapons!"

"We'll never be able to do that!"

"Wait… How can _we_ help? You said we were going to help you. And that we're special or something, right?"

"What is going on?"

I raise a hand and the talking stops, the only sound in the room the faint buzzing of the projector as it shows the Complex channel. "I know you're confused, and have questions, but it's fairly simple. Each of you possess traits that will advance our project exponentially, and you will be trained so that those traits will be drawn out and nurtured, so that you can achieve your full potential."

"This is assuming that we join you, though. Admittedly, the other option kind of sucks, but we're not really obligated to help you, besides the fact that you've saved us and all. Why should you help us? By the sound of it, if one of us quits then your almighty plan will collapse. What if we opt out?" Cole says, eyes narrowed.

"Have we done anything that would spark animosity between the two of us? For all that we've done for you, should you not be grateful? Should you not want to help us in return?"

"I mean, I'm grateful and all, but I –"

"You wanna go back home? Hate to break it to ya, pal, but there ain't no home anymore." Kai replies, in admirable rebel slang, too. Cole fumes silently but doesn't reply.

"He has a point. Home as you knew it no longer exists. Home was a lie. Now you fight for the people. You fight for the patchless, who have seen the truth now and are acting on their beliefs. Now you fight for the citizens hiding from persecution, who have taken up arms against Borg, who the Nindroids will slaughter without a second thought. You know what will happen without you?" I stand for effect, leaning forward with my palms on the table. "The patchless will fight, but eventually their rebellion will be smothered. A shaken Borg will try to soothe what little of the population he still controls, while also chasing after every rebellion rumor. He will strike your families first, everyone you have ever loved, torture them, kill them, trying to get at you. And while the rebel movement will grow, Borg will grow faster, and eventually he will find and kill us. Our leaders will die and be replaced by leaders just as good, and they will die and be replaced, and so will Borg and so will I, and the cycle goes on."

"So what? We're just _kids!_ In the real world they treat us like dirt. What can we do that's so monumental? So what if I can lead, or if someone can build a cool robot or whatever? We can't help you! We're not superheroes or anything!"

"You fail to understand, Cole. You are young. Your lack of experience leads you to know no loss; you will not be cautious, hesitant. Your genius is still uncultured and it is already incredible. With training and time you could become brilliant. And there is something that you can bring… But that is for a later date."

The students are silent, mulling over what I have just said. _They have no idea how important they are,_ I think. _Is it true that we are relying on children to save us all? I never could have guessed…_

"Okay, okay, we heard the speech. We join the team. What now?" The Ice boy says, gazing at the news feed on the wall.

"You'll have to take the test that sorts you into your guild. It's not a written test, in fact, it's most like the elemental test the thirteen-years children take back at the Complex to sort them into elements. It will be administrated by the Tactical guild for each of you after this meeting adjourns. That is, if you are joining the rebel cause."

"And what if we don't? Really, actually, what will you do to us?" Cole asks, but I can tell by his hunched posture that he plans to join and is just wondering.

"I will send you in a hovercraft to the woods outside of the Complex, where you will return. The first Nindroid you see will take you to Borg Tower and President Borg will –"

"Okay, yeah, I get it. I'm in, I guess."

"Wonderful." I reply, then turn to the other tributes. "And you? What do you say?"

"I'm in too." The Ice boy says, still looking confused.

"Yeah, me three!" The Lighting boy nods furiously, grinning.

"Sure." Garmadon's son says, gesturing his palms open.

"I'll join too." The Darkness girl says, then glances at the Fire boy.

"And you, Kai? What do you say?" I ask, preparing myself for a brief trading exchange, but instead the boy fixes me with an empty stare.

"What about the other people in the Complex? Our relatives, our friends. You said that if we were to return Borg would interrogate, torture them. Isn't he doing that now, trying to find out our whereabouts?" _He's quick._

"It is unclear for certain people in particular."

"No, it isn't. You've obviously got them monitored – family, if we have them. You know that. Where are they? Have they been taken to the Tower?" The other tributes shift uncomfortably, suddenly worried. The boy is right, I have been keeping tabs on family members, seeing if Borg has begun his search yet.

"I can't confirm their safety in the future…" I begin, but Kai stops me.

"So right now they're safe. But you don't know if later, once the rebellion has reached a manageable or out-of-control state, they won't be taken hostage." _Very quick indeed._

"Would you prefer we guarantee their safety?"

"I will join, under one condition," The Fire boy begins, and I realize that, either if he knows it or not, he's won this match, or I have set him up. I know that he will join, and I know the look he gave me. _The impenetrable trader has a chink in his armor. This I can use._ "I want you to guarantee the safety of the immediate family of every rescued tribute and their safe passage to the base." The other students look at Kai, shocked, but I can almost feel their relief as they sink into their chairs.

"You know I cannot guarantee that." I say, but the Fire boy doesn't respond. His work is done.

"But… You'll try, right?" The Lightning boy squeaks, forehead scrunched in worry. I let out a quiet breath.

"Fine. Your condition has been granted. I repeat, I cannot guarantee this."

"Good enough." Cole says, keeping his arms entwined tightly.

I glance at the wall port and check the time – the tributes should be taking their tests now. "This meeting has been very enlightening, and I hope many of your questions have been answered. Now, if you will, please follow Priam and Kess to your aptitude testing room. Further instructions will be given after your results have been processed. Farewell, my friends and soldiers, and good luck." And with that, our audience is done.

While the tributes file out of the meeting room to meet their soldier escorts Wu stands next to me, hands clasped together behind his back.

"So these are our saving graces?" He asks, smirking a little as he says so.

"If they aren't, our saving graces had better come soon."

"Thought they'd be taller. But I guess they make up for height in god-like unspeakable powers."

I ignore his jab and simply watch the retreating backs. "Right on, soldier."

 **Okay. Let's have a moment of real talk.**

 **You, the reader, typically never review, right? Please, please make an exception this time! I'd love to know what you think of the first chapter of the sequel. Think of it as your Christmas gift to me.**

 **Speaking of gifts, I have one for you. Comment your favorite story and I'll go check it out! Sorry, I didn't have time to wrap it. Do you like it?**

 **FIRST CHAPTER NOSTALGIA. Are you ready for a** ** _wild_** **ride?**

 **I hope so, dear reader.**

 **Happy holidays! Until next time!**

 **P.S. Cover art is credited to the enormously talented celebrenithil on deviantart.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Now that we're back on our update-a-week schedule, welcome back! For the record, updates should be on Saturdays once my school schedule starts up again.**

 **What did you think of chapter one? Surprising to have a chapter from Thrace, yeah? Still confused? Very, very confused? Don't worry, the tributes feel that way too.**

 **Have a great New Year, everyone! And here I am, January first, posting fanfiction. So far 2016 goin' strong.**

 **You know the drill, dear reader. Read on!**

Chapter Two - Lloyd

I trail behind the group of tributes as the two guards lead us to an elevator and usher us inside. Everyone is silent, keeping their eyes on the floor or wandering around the room, never making eye contact. Priam and Kess keep up lively conversation, though, and the way they talk is strange, with confusing slang that I don't understand. After a while, though, their attention turns to us.

"So, which one of you is god?"

"Kinda a mutual thing, ya know?" The Fire boy responds, and his tone matches the soldiers' equally. Both seem pleased and smile.

"Oh yeah? People ain't gonna be pleased when their savior is a Borg-lovin' Single."

"Who you callin' Borg-lover? I can still see the misty look in you eyes," Kai quips, and the soldiers laugh. Priam slugs him playfully on the arm.

"I like this kid!" The soldier gestures for us to exit once the lift's doors slide open and Priam snaps into a salute when we exit, and Kess rolls his eyes and makes a face at his friend. The soldiers here seem so lax, so easygoing. How could they be organized enough to fight Borg? A small trickle of worry slides down my spine and I shiver.

Kess catches my eye and winks. "It's cool, kid. The test don't hurt or nothing like that. You'll be fine." I arrange my features in a smile and shove my hands in the pockets of my jumpsuit. The rebel clothes are weird, too, and after years of my tunic the uniform here seems alien. I'll have to get used to it, though, and I'll probably have time enough to. There's no going back to the Complex – the Complex doesn't exist anymore, Thrace said, or at least not as we remembered it. _Home is a lie. But is it?_

The floor we enter on looks like a normal office, with Tactical people swarming about. Some crouch over deskwork, typing furiously, some point out pins on a map in a meeting room, and some stare as we pass through. I can hear a few furtive whispers as I pass.

"That's them? The kids who'll save the world or something?"

"Those are the tributes! No _way!_ Those are the tributes!"

"You aren't getting an autograph, if that's what you're wondering."

Priam and Kess weave their way between cubicles and desks with ease, until the people thin out and then disappear. Blank walls take their place, with doors spaced fair distances apart the only thing on their surface. We're ushered into one door that's marked with a placard, "Tribute Testing." Kess lets out a low whistle.

"You get your own room. We were mass-tested with the other soldiers. I was wondering when they gave us the floor number… Anyways, there'll be a Tactical bloke in there for ya. I'm supposed to leave you here, but…" He pokes his head in the door and I try to see inside, but it's too dark to make anything out, "Oi, anyone in?"

"Yes, yes, you needn't shout." A wheezy voice echoes from the room's interior and I feel the same trickle of fear rush over me again. I glance over at the other guys and they don't look super nervous – or maybe it's just a façade, I can't tell. _Finn would be able to. He would glance at any one of them and tell them their favorite color, their birthday, and their future._ The familiar wrench in my gut twists when I think about my mentor, and my suspicions were only confirmed by Thrace. Is he being tortured right now, Borg trying to tear the information from him? I never quite learned the whole thinking-and-trading deal, and I could have used it now. Someone gulps next to me, but I don't look up, eyes fixated on Kess' back.

"'Ready for 'em, Doc?" The soldier asks, and the same wispy voice answers.

"Yes, yes. Send in the All-Element boy." Every eye turns on me and I feel my blood run cold. Kess pivots and points a finger gun at me.

"You heard him, mate. Good luck!" _Good luck?_ I remain still for one more second, feeling the fear course through my veins, then reach out with a shaking hand and open the door to the testing room. Once I close the door behind me all outside light is extinguished and I'm enveloped in blackness.

In an instant I'm drowning in the darkness, completely surrounded and lost. Spinning in a circle, I try to find some source of light, but everything is painted in pitch-black. I realize that by spinning I've lost my bearings – I could've found the doorknob if I had stayed still – but now I'm disoriented and lost again. Just as I'm about to shout for help an echoing voice sounds from all around me.

"Easy, child. We're not here to hurt you." The rasping sound resonates throughout the room and I follow the sound.

"A-are you Doc?" My voice wavers and I screw my eyes shut, forcing myself to calm down.

"If that is what you wish to call me, yes, I am Doc." Is the response, and when I open my eyes again a soft glow has issued from the middle of the room. Inadvertently I begin to walk towards it, still tense but more relived now. From what is illuminated I can see that the room is completely bare and pretty large. Each footstep echoes loudly as I walk towards the light.

"Good, good." Doc says, and I freeze in place. "The testing will begin soon. It is a simulation, so you are not in real danger, but it is made to appear so if necessary."

"If – if necessary?"

"The test is very, very good, child. If it deems you in need of a certain situation to judge your gifts, then it shall be. Are you ready to begin?"

"Wait, wait," I say, holding a hand up to my face. "Are you really here?"

"Me? I am supervising your test. While I am not physically in the room, I can see your every move."

"So if anything happens…"

"Good heavens, child, you are not in any danger!" Doc sounds exasperated, and I realize I'm holding up the group.

"Okay. Okay. I'm ready." I whisper, clenching my fists at my sides.

"Excellent. Let us begin."

With no warning a brilliant light floods the room and blinds me for a second; I stumble backwards to shield my eyes from the oncoming beams that burn my eyes. A whooshing sound emanates from my right and wind sweeps through my hair, pushing me off-balance. Once I open my eyes again I'm in a completely different room.

The All-Element Atrium is completely familiar and feels so much like home that I burst into a wide grin. People scurry to and fro, occasionally stopping to talk with friends or take the hands of children. A warm breeze meanders through the space and I begin to relax, wandering over to the staircase to my apartment. A young couple is descending and once they reach me they don't try to avoid me, just walk right through with a small _fizz_ and continue on their way as if I didn't exist. _I don't exist. This is a simulation._

Suddenly a crash from behind me breaks the peaceful murmur of the Atrium and I spin around, fists ready. A dozen Nindroids pour into the Atrium through the broken doors and pull out guns. Paralyzed with shock, I can only watch as they walk up to the nearest victim – a middle-aged woman – and shoot her through the head.

Screams pierce the calm as All-Element men and women race to get away, snagging the hands of their children or ducking to avoid the spray of bullets a second Nindroid lets off. A young man jerks forward as he darts away, legs twisting awkwardly as he collapses to the ground, frozen in death. Blood splatters the marble floors, mingles with the fountain waters, splashes against the walls. And there I stand, unmoving, unhelping, just present.

And then I see the little girl crouching next to the fountain stand and slowly walk towards the Nindroid, one hand outstretched, a look of wonder painted across her young features. _Skye._ No, not Skye, but she might as well be, and they're about to kill her. My body reacts naturally, needing no convincing, and I leap down the steps and sprint in front of the girl, stretching out my arms to protect her, even though I know it's futile. _The bullet will pass right though. You can't help her._ The gunfire echoing in my ears, I fall to the ground and am transported again to a different world.

My heart is racing as I pick myself up from the dirt floor, and I feel my pulse throbbing throughout my body. _Calm down. You're not in danger._ I've only been up for a second when I'm thrown down again, a fist hitting me solidly in the cheek and knocking me to the ground.

"Go on, stay down." A jeering tone taunts at me as I wince and gasp, trying to stand again. Something digs into my ribcage and I cry out in pain, thrown to the side. "Come on, just lay there. It'll be over easier." The next kick is swift and sure, and blood drips from my nose, coating my lips. _What is going on?_ I try to turn and face my assailants, but I'm only shoved away.

 _The point is to stand. You're supposed to stand._ Arms trembling, I manage to pull myself to my knees when another blow lands on my head, my shoulders. "Stay down, go on! Show us what you're made of!" _So the rebels want to know?_ Gathering my remaining energy, I shove myself upwards and throw myself blindly in the direction of the voices…

They're gone, and so is the pain, the blood, all vanishing as my scenario changes. This time I leap to my feet, turning to see all of my surroundings before I'm attacked again. This place I'm in now seems peaceful enough: a forest with a small creek, autumn light streaming through the foliage. Instantly I'm reminded of the Games and reach for my knife, but before I can see if it's there the scene changes again.

A crackle of lighting shakes the ground beneath me and I instinctively duck, hands over my head. The ground beneath me pitches and rolls in a violent but rhythmic way, and I realize I'm on a boat. I've never actually been on a boat, but this is obviously one. My boots slide on the wet deck and I reach out to grab a handhold, latching onto a protruding pipe.

"Hey! Get out of here!" A man screams on the deck, waving frantically at me. "There's kamikazes and we're as porous as a sieve! Help them clog the holes belowdeck!" _Kamikazes?_ I don't know the term and try to show the man by shrugging, but before he can shout at me again something smashes into the deck and an explosion rips the hull apart, throwing me back and into a wall. My head smacks into the hard metal and tears of pain spring forward. _What was that?_ Lighting spikes through the sky again and I see for the first time exactly what happened to the shouting man.

A plane – a full sized, steaming airplane – is lodged in the hull, small fires not yet extinguished from the explosion. I cover my head and run to the cockpit, where I see a soldier slumped forward in his seat, neck stuck at a curious angle… When the truth hits me I back away, then run, a hand covering my mouth, insides churning with the waves. _Kamikaze. Suicide._

Then the lights snap on, the deck of the ship vanishes, and I'm in a blank white room. A door opens on one side and a jumpsuit-clad man walks in, slightly stooped and wizened, with tanned skin and a small frown on his face. When he speaks, though, I recognize him.

"Lloyd? Your test is complete and results are pending. If you please, follow me through here…" I'm still too stunned from the simulation to respond, so I numbly follow Doc through the door and into the adjourning room, which is filled with screens of the simulator room, files, and desks covered with papers, a few empty mugs, and a skeleton of the human body.

"If you'd like, I can explain the route the test took you. It's unique to every soldier, but I can follow the flow." Wheezes Doc, and I simply nod, sitting heavily in his chair.

"I understand your confusion and shock, especially after seeing all of those deaths at your age." Doc says, but under his tone of concern is the sound of scientific interest, like he wants to see how I'll react. _I am not a chemical._ "First you were sent to somewhere familiar, somewhere you were comfortable in, and exposed to its destruction. The test took it further to see your reaction to sacrifice." The little girl, the one like Skye. Could Borg do that? With the patchless rebellion, could the Atrium already be filled with the bodies of rebels? "Next we tested your resilience, your tenacity. The attackers who were harming you, them you defied." I remember the crushing blows, the taste of the blood in my mouth. "Then was exposure to a Games-like scenario. You reached for your weapon, correctly recognizing the situation and responding accordingly. And finally, the ship being attacked. There are many kind of sacrifice, Lloyd, this you learned."

"So? I snap, turning to look Doc in the eyes. "Is that supposed to make me Thrace's suicidal soldier? Implant some kind of memory that makes me comfortable with that? Psychic submission?"

Doc's eyes widen, but there is no emotion in their depths. "No." He says firmly, and does not elaborate. He turns and shuffles away, and when he returns he has a paper in his hand, which he gives to me.

"Congratulations, Lloyd. Have fun in Army."

 ***Marty McFly voice* Doc, Doc, come in, Doc!**

 **Kind of reminds me of Divergent, the whole testing thing. Where do you think the other tributes will go (Army, Service, Mechanic's, Tactical, etc.)?**

 **And, since I love to hear from you so much, review it so far! Tell me what you think? Questions, comments, concerns? It'll take two seconds to type in there and you'll brighten my day - or should I say, my year? Tell me I misspelled something, I don't care.**

 **Don't forget to add a favorite story of your own in the comments! I can't wait to read them :)**

 **That puts us at the end of the agenda. Until next time!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Welcome back, loyal readers!**

 **I have an update - well, not really, just a point of interest.**

 **TOTM IS GETTING SO MANY VIEWS! (Truth of the Matter, if you can't read abbreviations.)**

 **I'm as shocked as you are, and kind of freaking out. THANK YOU SO MUCH!**

 **Ready to learn some more about the rebels, though? Since you obviously don't care about my ramblings.**

 **Fine, have at it. Read on!**

Chapter Three – Kai

Assignment in hand and patch newly sewn on my jumpsuit, I take my newly acquired supplies – a few more jumpsuits, some socks, and a toothbrush – and follow the map on my paper to my new Army training barracks. The Service members seemed surprised when they saw me, either because of my age or my presence in the Games they surely followed. I don't care, though. I just want to see what rebel training is like.

Chaotic, it seems, once I take the lift down to my new Army barracks and am greeted with utter disarray. Army Barracks 3 is filled with soldiers, mostly male, all joking and talking or lounging on their bunks. Some check the two wall ports by the doors for their schedules, but most are relaxing comfortably with their friends. One of them notices me standing in the door and glances over, scoffs, then starts to walk my way.

"Whaddaya want, kid?" A man about twenty two leans over me, scowling, and his rancid breath almost makes me gag.

"I've been assigned here. Army Barracks Three, unless the lift carried me to the wrong floor." I glance around the room as the man snatches the transfer paper in my hands and peruses it with narrowed eyes. A few of the other soldiers are watching now, and they're whispering to each other, pointing. I watch them carefully, judging their skills, their athleticism, their strength. The aptitude test is an interesting code, and now that I've solved it I can see these soldiers' sway to Infantry. Most are in the twenty to mid-thirties age group, in decent shape, with good general skills. I also pick up on small trends of theirs – most of the guys have their hair pulled back in short tails, and some have their patch arms thrown forward by force of habit, probably from showing off all the time.

"Is there a problem here?" Someone asks, and a new man has approached me and the other guy, an older one, probably thirty.

"We have a new recruit. A kid." I feel a surge of indignation at his words but simply stare as the new man takes the paper and examines it. He has two patches on his arm, but one of them is square as opposed to the circles of the other patches.

"Ah, I see. You're how old, soldier?"

 _Why is this always about my age?_ "Sixteen, sir." The other man snorts and crudely disguises it as a cough, but the square-patch man doesn't react, just turns and faces the other men.

" _Attention!"_ He barks, and every soldier snaps upward into a salute, suddenly orderly. "We have a new recruit!" Instantly every eye is on me, judging me, and I see a few soldiers roll their eyes or smirk. Fighting to keep my expression impassive, I nod slightly in their direction. "I expect him to be welcomed to Army Barracks Three. Is that so?"

"Yes, sir!" The other soldiers shout, and when the square-patch man turns to me they settle back down again.

"My name is Ream, soldier. In case you're wondering about the patches, Singles leaders all have them; we're not parts of squads just by being above you. Check your name on the wall port for your schedule. Obviously, right now is free time." Suddenly he leans in close and whispers, "Watch your back, kid. Soldiers don't like a kid joining them too much, you get me?" A little shaken, I just nod.

"Good." Ream straightens, then points to the back of the room. "Your bunk will be back there. There is a locker for your belongings, and the bathrooms and cafeteria are close if you need them. Good luck, soldier." Then he's gone.

First I check the wall port, which is an intricate bit of machinery. After only a few touches I realize the capacity of the port is much more than what the soldiers use it for, but I can mess around later. Now my schedule says I have training in ten minutes, then dinner and free time before lights-out, probably the same as all of the other soldiers in my barracks. Snapping the port off, I take my things and find my bunk, the only empty one in the room.

The locker is a public one, with no lock or fixture to keep out thieves, but I see a few soldiers have strips of cloth or paperclips fashioned into makeshift locks for their stuff. I figure I'll make something later. For now I just set my jumpsuits and toothbrush inside, then close the door and lay on my bunk, staring up at the mattress suspended on top of me. Although most of the soldiers seem to be friends with each other here, no one has even offered their name. I don't mind, though. Isolation now could be preferable. Still, I've always had someone – Nya at home, Ming in the Arena. And no one here. Yet.

"All right, get your lousy Borg-lovin' behinds out of bed before yer brains get boiled, tykes, it's time to train!" Only minutes later a soldier shouts, and everyone groans and shuffles towards the door and into the large training room. I saw it on the way in, but now, up close, it seems even more formidable. Most of the solders are gathering at the track and I stand at the edge of the mix, watching as Ream walks out from the barracks and stands in front of the cluster of rebels.

"Twelve laps, boys. Loser gets two rope climbs!" Twelve laps – three miles. After the Games I've gotten used to the running, though, and once we start I can see who is and isn't a distance runner. I pass many soldiers as I run, seeing them wipe their sweaty brows and bend down to tie their shoes, hungry for a break, but I keep going, methodically moving around and around the track until finally the soldiers in front of me grind to a halt, bending over and clasping their hands on their knees and panting. Surprisingly, I'm not that tired after the running, instead feeling invigorated. The last few soldiers barely manage to drag themselves across the line, faces brilliantly red. The last one casts Ream a miserable look then stumbles over to the dangling ropes and starts to pull himself, hand over hand, up the rope, relying only on upper body strength. I watch his with critical interest as he slowly works his way up; the climb would be less exerting if he used his feet to loop the rope and push upwards. Sure enough, he makes it up about twenty feet before he falls with a cry down to the ground, landing with a nasty thud.

"All right, moving on. To the bars. Each one who falls gets another go!" I trot over to a ten-foot ladder and watch as the first soldier who reaches the top walks out on a short platform, then takes hold of what look like adult-sized monkey bars and begins to swing across. The distance isn't too long and he gets across all right, and descends on the ladder at the end. The man behind me whispers to his friend and they both laugh.

"At least it's not the descending ladder."

"Pfft, please. None of us would be going to dinner tonight if it was."

The fourth soldier to attempt the bars misses a handhold and dangles by one arm for a while, then swings his weight back up and finishes. The man after him, one of the youngest of the group besides me, makes it three-fourths of the way across, then his hands lose their grip and he falls. After picking himself up the soldier walks to the back of the line, shame plastered across his face.

When it's my turn I take a deep breath, then grip the bars tightly and start swinging my way across. Like the run, it's not very hard, but I can see how it could be. When I descend a few of the soldier who fell shoot me nasty looks, but I ignore them, smiling slightly. _First day and I'm already better than them. Still… Better watch my back._

Each soldier has to scale the climbing wall next, which is much harder than anything else we've done, especially when the wall comes outwards and you have to climb under it, dangling from your hands and footholds. When I ring the bell at the top and prepare to rappel down, though, Ream cuts my line and I have to scramble down the wall again, reaching out blindly at some times, struggling to find a foothold. A few of the soldiers fall on this, but not as many as the bars.

My arms and legs burning, it's all I can do to keep up when Ream sends us through a rigorous conditioning exercise. This time I'm not alone in my struggles – no one seems to be able to perform the stretches well, and a few hide behind other soldiers and try to rest while avoiding the leader's sharp gaze. When Ream announces that we'll be moving on everyone collapses onto the floor, gasping.

Finally we have target practice before dinner, which is strange. Ream has his soldiers aiming wrong: instead of loosely finding their targets and aiming, each soldier tenses their body to avoid movement, then fires, aiming with their wrists and hands and not their arms or body, rocking back with the recoil. As a result their shots are poor and they earn a shouting fit from Ream. I try to act like them when Ream comes by to observe my shooting, aiming with my own method, and my shots are consistently the best in the group's. It's really not the soldiers' faults that they're not accurate with guns, it's Ream's, or whoever taught him. I'm curious why he's a leader if his shooting method is faulty. Why would Thrace appoint his as an instructor if he can't instruct well? After a particularly bad round of shots Ream says we're dismissed and he collects the guns we've used. I watch as he returns them to a high-security locker near the targets. Today we worked with standard handguns, but I see other weapons in the storage locker, too – rifles and grenades, at least.

The cafeteria is full of sweaty, noisy soldiers shouting over each other to be heard, so I blend in easily, finding a table and quietly eating my meal, keeping an eye out for any of the soldiers in my group who would want trouble. Subconsciously I rub my previously injured wrist, remembering the procedures Thrace used to repair it. Those kind of tools could be used to help the injured at the Complex – in the past. There is no Complex anymore, not really. Even so, the rebel tech far surpasses anything I'd ever seen in the Complex, outstripping Borg's greatest inventions easily. No wonder they could break into the Arena with tools like these.

Rebel food is incredibly unremarkable, so much so that I wonder if they try to make it so, bland and dry and ordinary, but filling. I remember the feasts at Borg Tower for a moment and smile, envisioning the delicacies available for us there, then I remember Thrace's words. _You can go back there and eat all that you want, at the price of Nya's life. Deal or no deal?_

Once the cafeteria closes I follow my group back to the barracks. Some head to the bathrooms for a shower, and smelling the rank sweaty air in the barracks I decide that it's a good idea to do so. Bringing along a spare jumpsuit, I take a shower stall and rinse the perspiration from my skin, relishing the warm water. I pull on a towel and walk out of the stall to change into my clothes, except they're not there. _Ah. I see._ Turning slightly to the side, I see three older guys standing with arms crossed by the sinks. One of them has my jumpsuit in his hands. I recognize the crooked smile of the first soldier who talked to me, remember his foul breath. The other two look just as imposing.

"You could say please." I say, brushing past them and washing my hands in the sink, fighting the urge to turn and face the boys.

"Nah. We want something, _soldier."_ The guy I know speaks, stressing the word 'soldier' like it's an insult.

In a second I understand. "A promotion."

"Yeah, yeah. Quick one, isn' he?"

"Too quick." The second guy growls, his eyebrows furrowed.

"Y'see, kiddo, we want a squad. Wanna be in one, you got that? And on his first day, when some smartmouthed kid comes and shows us all up… We don't like that. You got that?"

"Yeah, yeah." I say, drying off my hands, gazing up at the soldiers. "So what you gonna do, mate? Shove my head down the toilet? Smother me in my own clothes? That's if your breath don't kill me first."

The first soldier's cocky smile turns to a wincing scowl. He steps forward and shoves his arm against my chest, barring me against the cold tile wall. "You listen to me, ya Borg-lovin' good for nothin' Single, you listen here! Don't you cause any trouble now, or so will we, you got that?"

"I was right. It was the breath that would get me first." I smirk, and fiery rage burns in the first soldier's eyes, but he lets me go.

"Give him his clothes. We'll be nice just this one time, kiddo. And never again, ya hear?"

I take my jumpsuit and walk past the three guys without a response, breathing a sigh of relief as I hear their footsteps exit the bathroom.

Once I walk back into the barracks all of the soldiers eye me with different expressions, some piteous, some gleeful, and some scared. My bunkmate flips over the railing and looks at me strangely as I lay down on my bunk.

"You're screwed, man."

"Anything new to tell me?" I wonder aloud.

"Naw. Just sayin' that Rhys is the most determined guy out there. If he wants something, he gets it, ya get me?"

 _And he wants to be in a squad. And I stand in his way._ I glance over at Rhys, who is leaning against his bunk with a cluster of other soldiers around him, laughing at a joke.

"I get you." I say, then close my eyes. If this is rebel life, do I really want it?

 **Guess being a rebel ain't all fun and games, right?**

 **This is kind of a side-comment, but, if you have the time/means/if you want to, review this and tell me what you think! I honestly want to know your opinion, and you'd be the first to review if you did. What do you think so far? Anxious to know more? Do I have a grievous spelling error somewhere? Did you hamster die? Tell me! I love to hear your opinion and, if possible, I'll PM you back if you have any questions/comments/concerns. And my condolences if your hamster has, in fact, died.**

 **Next update should be Friday/Saturday? Can't wait for more? Me either!**

 **Until next time, then!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four, are you excited yet?**

 **Strangely enough, I can't think of any notifications or anything to alert you about. (That's a first!)**

 **I guess we'll just transition to the catchphrase, then. :)**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Four – Wu

"How is their status?" Williams asks, straightening his jumpsuit as he speaks. The delegates have met for an assessment of the tributes' adjustment to the rebel base, and I'm hungry for information about Lloyd.

"All seem to be doing well – or, getting by." Johnson says, and I notice his hunched look and wary eyes. Thrace notices it too.

"How so, Johnson?"

"Well, um… The All-Element boy is doing all right in training, but he's certainly nothing special." That's expected, but I can feel Garmadon stiffen slightly next to me. "The Fire boy, on the other hand, is doing exceptionally well, much better than those in his Army Barracks, especially in shooting and target practice. The Earth boy is doing very well in Tactical, too. Both the Ice and Lightning boys have adjusted to their new surroundings, and they're churning out revolutionary designs and technology." A few of the delegates nod enthusiastically. "And the Darkness girl… We're still trying to figure out her powers. Having no one else with her gifts… It can be difficult. Perhaps she was expecting some people here to have similar powers."

"So why are you anxious, my friend? This report seems to be a good one."

Johnson audibly gulps and shuffles through his notes. "The All-Element boy is not very gifted when it comes to weaponry or other Army-based activities. The Fire boy has made enemies in his group, and I fear they may plan something adverse down the line. The desire to improve in rank is very strong, you see." Thrace simply nods, but doesn't look too distressed. "Already the Earth boy has gained a small following, though, so that's good news. Even in completely alien environments he is establishing his leadership. The Ice and Lightning boys are doing well, but the Darkness girl is afraid and alone. We need to show her that others like her have gifts."

"So you're saying we should start the element program." A woman who sits next to Johnson speaks. "We need the support of the Darkness girl, and we're losing her. Can't we put her in a squad?"

A different woman speaks this time, rubbing her forehead as she responds. "Too risky. Too dangerous. Have we done a sweep and seen if there are any other citizens with magic?"

"That's the problem. We don't know how to detect it. If we can find what gives her the gift then we can check… But until then, dead end."

Williams' eyes dart over to Thrace and Liam looks surprisingly skeptical. The rebel leader reveals nothing to explain their glances. _Yet another secret..._

"So what are our options?" Eli asks, glancing up and down the length of the table. "We could start up the element program, figure out as best we can their triggers. Or we could put the Darkness girl in a squad. Reduce her isolation. Are we in fear of losing her?"

"Not quite. But training with those she knows would reduce what we're worried about." Johnson says, shrugging.

"Then again, if we mess up with the triggers…"

"Not a good plan." Scourge says shortly.

"So Thrace, what can we do? We can't speed ahead the element program, can we? But we can't help with the girl." I see both sides of the problem, and don't know which to go with. The best option would be finding another magic user for Ming to train with, but there are none.

"Well," I begin, looking down, "Aren't there spellbooks somewhere? I mean, they exist, sure, the traders can affirm that. And if there was ever a place magical artifacts would be held, it would be here or Borg Tower. Do you have any magical tomes or anything the girl could train with? And perhaps a squad she could work with that could protect her on the field, learn her magic and how to use it to her advantage? There's a Magic guild now, and it needs members."

"Wait, wait. We could send in some Infantry soldiers, at least Doubles, and they could work and maneuver with her. Also be her bodyguards, and they would be able to hold their own in a fight. She would strengthen them, and they would protect her. This could work." A man says from down the table, and I catch a flash of his grin.

"Agreed." Williams says, and I look up sharply.

"It will be arranged. We'll take soldiers from other squads, too, so that the group is well-rounded. What do you say – sniper, infantry, and spy?" The delegates chuckle at the special operations squad reference, and I find myself smiling.

"That sound excellent. I'll send a message to their squad leaders right away. Dismissed." Thrace replies, and he walks to the wall port and begins construction his message. Garmadon catches my eye and nods to the exit, and I follow him out the door and to the Lobby, where news is blaring on the projector wall.

"The patchless rebellion has reached a wild frenzy, leading to questions about the true power President Borg has over the actions in the Complex. However, he addressed the issue in a recent newscast." The screen image flips to a video of Borg appearing stern and cold behind a podium, his eyes flashing with a dangerous light.

"Many citizens have been wondering about the unfortunate incident of the rebellion happening in the Complex lately. Although I've already affirmed this, you are in no danger. The new batches of Nindroids have been specifically programmed to locate and neutralize any threats to your safety."

Someone scoffs to my right and I see Eli standing next to me, holding a glass of water in his hand. "Yeah, right. We've studied that tech – programmed to scan for patches, and if they aren't there, boom." He does a one-handed explosion gesture.

"That's pretty extreme." Garmadon says, eyes fixated on the screen, which shows grainy footage of yet another bonfire. "The civilians are getting very anxious, ready for change. How long will Thrace wait? Lots will be slaughtered."

"Hopefully they'll be prepared. We have weapons and intel streaming into their group like a waterfall. They'll know soon." His expression is hopeful but his tone is flat.

"Although there are estimates, we can confirm that over half of the population have rebelled against President Borg, and those numbers are climbing. Let me remind you, citizens: Borg has done nothing wrong or acted against you in any ways. He has sheltered you, educated you. These men and women have forgotten that, and this is how they repay the President's kindness."

"Kindness? Here's kindness for you, _the Hunger Games._ " Eli scowls, and then turns away and storms over to the lifts, shoulders hunched. For a moment I consider following him, because I've never seem even-tempered Eli in this state before, but Garmadon lightly touches my arm.

"Don't. Let him calm down." He advises, and I turn to face the screen again.

"Citizens are advised to follow the Stop-Fade-Depart method when confronted with any rebels. First, _Stop_ what you are doing. Second, _Fade_ into the nearby surroundings – whether that be walking away, finding a sufficient hiding place, or otherwise removing yourself from the rebel's proximity. Lastly, _Depart,_ and report the rebel to a Nindroid or a trusted Borg Enterprises official." A few pictures flash, showing people following the Stop-Fade-Depart method. The rebel in the situation is not shown.

"So what do you think of it?" A Tactical man next to me asks, then extends a hand. "Sorry, sir, for not introducing myself. I'm Henrik, and was just wondering what you thought of the current events. You both being Command and all." He flashes me a nervous smile, which I return.

"Sure… I mean, I'm no expert. Obviously, the patchless are slowly getting out of Borg's control, and they might have free reign of the Complex soon. I don't know if Thrace will strike then, or when he will strike actually. Or what a strike like this could even look like."

"But they have a plan?" Henrik asks, eyes alight.

"Yes."

"Wow. Wow, thanks. Thanks a lot!" He says, then walks off with barely concealed excitement.

"You'd think we're celebrities." Garmadon says as Henrik meets a group of friends and starts talking quickly, smiling giddily.

"If only. Celebrities are paid." I say, even though we'd have no use for money here.

"We could buy the tributes positions and spare them the trouble." Garmadon hooks his thumbs in his pockets and looks on at the news again, and we're quiet for a while.

After having a bite of actually-not-so-terrible hamburger, my brother and I ascend to floor thirty-eight and sit in our second meeting, which is an assessment of the soldiers joining Ming's special Magic squad. They all seem to be very nice, polite, and exceptional soldiers. I expect they'll work well together. The next meeting, directly afterwards, is totally focused on the new designs from the Ice and Lightning boys. I'm not a Mechanic's man, but I can still be very impressed by their creations. Zane has invented new ways to train soldiers when facing Nindroids, programmed with more daring attacks, more flexible patterns. He has also made plans for more efficient planes, tanks, and other war machines, including a small burrowing device that plants itself conveniently below enemy outposts before detonating. Jay has created many prototypes for soldier training devices, a new water filtration system, and a microscopic tracking device that could be implanted on the new Nindroids without detection. The Mechanic's team practically glows as they report their new findings, and Thrace seems satisfied.

The third and final meeting is the most important one, though, an invasion practice using all of the generals and advisors for a simulated battle using all of Borg's knows weapons. Thrace and the generals and a few of the main wartime delegates all have seats at the holographic table, with headsets to give orders to their troops. I see a man whose placard reads 'Pilot General' and am reminded of Quill and Louis. All wear heavy, determined expressions on their faces as they bark out commands and lean forward, occasionally twisting the display to view from a new angle, or selecting certain soldiers to lead the others into a certain storm. The whole process is very exciting, like watching a particularly difficult trade, and although there is a reasonable loss of life at the end, everyone seems satisfied when the last red light on the hologram is disposed of.

"Still, we have to work out the forcefield…" A younger delegate says at the end, and the generals fix him with a glare so intense he cowers back and ducks his head in apology. _And there we are; I'm back to confusion again._

"What did you think of that?" Garmadon asks, and I can tell he is encouraged by the display of the leaders' ability.

"Very impressive. I wasn't expecting some of their moves. For guys our age, they can be unpredictable."

"Are you calling me predictable?" He chuckles, and I shrug and head for the nearest lift. We've missed dinner, but I'm not very hungry as it is.

"See you tomorrow, then." My brother says as he enters his room, and I wave and close the door to mine, checking the wall port one last time for any messages or last-minute meetings. Satisfied, I lie down on my bed and watch the Complex news feed until lights-out.

The rebel act is coming together, and I feel like I have a stronger grasp on the plans of Thrace, but a forcefield now? The Arena forcefield was pierced, how can this one be any different? Maybe there are more of them, like layers…

I fall asleep with the holographic battle buzzing around my mind, and I briefly recall my battle in code with Thrace and the rebel hackers. Who could have guessed that now I'd be joining them?

 **What do you think? Does the plot thicken?**

 **Speaking of** ** _what do you think,_** **pop down to that 'review' thing and type in a short bit about the chapter! Or the story in general, since there's not that much to read yet. Tell me your thoughts! I forgot how to read minds yesterday so I can't just pluck them out of your genius brains, sorry. We'll have to do it the conventional way.**

 **All joking aside, really do tell me what you think! Even spelling errors, I couldn't care less. I'd love to hear from you!**

 **Wow, another short author's note. I guess that's all for today, dear reader. Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hello again! Ready for some more rebel action? So am I, let's get started!**

 **As news goes, there's practically nothing, besides the fact I have been severely procrastinating writing this story. Don't worry, it's almost complete as is...**

 **I won't give away any hints, though! Prepare to be amazed.**

 **Speaking of amazed, prepare to be amazed with this chapter! Read on!**

Chapter Five – Ming

The guys actually seem nice – one thing I certainly was not expecting. Of course, I had no idea what I was expecting when I checked the wall port and saw I had a morning meeting.

Thrace had explained that I would be training with an elite group of soldiers, unfortunately not magic users, that would help me strengthen my skills on the battlefield and also work as my bodyguards, effectively using both their abilities and my gift to the greater effect. Working with a dozen guys? I wasn't exactly pumped. But, as it turns out, they're not so bad after all.

"So, you're like… A witch?" Was the first question asked, by a younger guy staring at me with some kind of awe. Despite myself, I laughed.

"Not quite."

"I mean, I don't want to be rude or anything, but that's totally wicked. Um, no pun intended." We all laughed then, until one of the older men of the group stepped forward.

"All right, this is training, not show and tell." His tone wasn't spiteful, just businesslike. "Where do we begin?"

I had no idea what they even did in training, so I just said, "Lead the way."

And now I'm climbing a suspended rope that seems to be a hundred feet long, inching my way up, arms burning and whispering spells between labored breaths to somehow make my ascent easier.

Most of the other soldiers are already ten feet higher than me and they don't have magic, so I feel especially weak and young next to them, but once I reach the top and shimmy down we all exchange high-fives in a way that is somehow not at all patronizing. The man who has decided to take charge, Bide, addresses the group, his powerful voice ringing out over the entire training space.

"Mechanic's let us borrow one of their new Nindroid prototypes. Ming, I was wondering if you could attack it first, so we can learn your attacks on it and weave them into our attack plan. Sound good?"

I blink, surprised at first, then nod. "Yes. Let's do it."

The soldiers clear a reasonable amount of space for the Nindroid and I to face off. Although it's obviously a Nindroid, the Mechanic's people have added their own touches – the eyes that glow blue instead of red, or the paintings of rebel guilds up and down the robot's arms. These do little to detract from the Nindroid's fierceness, though, which I learn when it swipes wildly at me and I can barely roll away before it clouts me over the head.

The soldiers cheer as I stand and get in a ready position. The Nindroid whirls quickly and sends out a smattering of bullets from a handgun, but I swing my hand up and the shots halt, embedded in my invisible shield. I won't cower, though, and while the Nindroid withdraws another weapon I whisper an incantation quietly, and the robot is frozen in its spot, only its eyes flicking from side to side. It wasn't a particularly difficult enemy, and the soldiers realize it.

"We'll get two!" Hassen shouts, and he wheels another Nindroid out from a storage locker and sets it up next to the first. I release the bind on the first Nindroid as soon as someone powers up the second and blue eyes bore into me, metal arms reaching for tool belts.

I can immobilize both of the Nindroids before they can do me any serious harm, but this is supposed to be training, so I let them approach. A crackling alerts me that the first Nindroid has readied a Taser, so I take a breath and summon a short gush of water that courses over the two robots. An acrid smell and warbled electronic pinging tells me I've succeeded. No time to celebrate, though, because the second Nindroid has taken out his club, which doesn't seem especially lethal, until I see the buttons on the hilt. A metal thumb presses one and I dive to the ground as a bullet spirals from the end of the baton and buries itself in the far wall. I swing my legs around and trip the Nindroid, which is hard because it's heavy, and as it falls I wrench the club from its hands and throw it away, then mutter a short spell. The Nindroid twitches, arms and legs flailing, convulsing wildly while the fire I've summoned burns through its inner wiring. Soon the blue glow in its eyes dies and the jerking limbs cease their motion.

Hassen whistles and Leon runs a hand through his hair. "That was brilliant! We've got no Borg-lovin' Singles in this room! Scary, mate!" The rebels talk strangely, but I'm beginning to understand their slang. In response I just nod and smile shyly.

"Clearly we need more Nindroids. Next, Ming, why don't you see how we operate? Construction of our attacks, our formations, you get the picture. We'll run some basic drills. All right, fall in!" Bide shouts, and the soldiers follow him. Someone passes out pistols and the soldiers begin practicing.

Initially I don't see the pattern in their drills; it's like the soldiers are performing a mysterious, elegant, deadly dance, one where the steps are so confusing yet perfectly mastered. After a while, though, I begin to see the ways their attacks fit in together, never giving ground or revealing a chink in their defenses. They practice assaulting a Nindroid, although they aren't as adept at it as I am, but still disposing of the robots quickly. Bide divides the group into a few groups and then stages a shootoff with short-activation tranquilizer guns. Hiding behind the equipment and hastily placed props, the soldiers use their guns to immobilize the other teams' troops until only one man is left standing. I'm very impressed once their drills are finished, and some of the soldiers laugh when they see my expression.

"What do you think we learn down in the basement? It's not a tea party or anything."

Bide and I decide that attacking Nindroids may be too easy for the Magic guild, so he leads me to a wall port and asks me to use it. Confused, I activate the port and see a small button labeled 'simulation' that I've never seen before.

"Squad leaders can use the ports during training in different ways. This is one of them."

I tap the button lightly with my index finger and images bloom from the port, forming a porous bubble around Bide and I. The 3-D simulations are about the size of my hand, and I gasp when I see a familiar one – the blade monster I faced in the Arena. Tentatively I touch it and the other images fade, while the monster bursts into full size, spinning in a slow circle nearby. A small projected placard next to the simulation catches my eye and I walk over and read it.

 _Name Unknown_

 _Creator: Cyrus Borg_

 _Habitat: Unknown, seen in Hunger Games_

 _Begin Simulation?_

"What do you think?" I ask Bide, and he trots over to my side, then swipes with his hand, spinning the blade monster in a circle slowly, examining the angles.

"I'd say it's a good idea. A difficult foe, but one that you have faced before. Soldiers! Fall in!"

At Bide's call the soldiers run over and look at the simulation, whispering to each other quietly. A few point out places on the monster's body. Most just look at me expectantly, and I realize they want me to brief them before the assault.

"Okay. I've faced this thing before, and as you can see, in its position as shown here it has no weak spots we can target. The way I've defeated it was by getting it to turn around – you can see how the blades protrude backwards like scales, and from the front they're interlocking and you can't hit it there." I spin the simulation to show the back of the monster, then curve my fingers and make the monster arch its back. The blades lift slowly away from each other, revealing its skin. "I don't know the best method of attack, I was in a tree when it happened. If we can get it to reveal its weak spots then I can terminate it."

"Sounds like a plan, boss." Leon says, "But how do we get it to do that? Move around, whatever. It's not like we can ask nicely or something."

"That's where we come in," Bide picks up, nodding in Leon's direction. "We can distract it and get it to move, then Ming can finish it off. I think I can position you well for this sim. Ming, you said you were in a tree when you attacked it?"

I'm not too eager to be in the spotlight again, but that can't be helped. "Yes. I ran around to its back and when it smashed into a tree I targeted its skin."

"Good. Leon, take some men and go to the bars. Asa, get up the ropes and into the ceiling. Will, descending bars. Ming and I will be on the scaffolding. This is fish-and-bait, men, and although the sim can't hurt you, you'll know when you're dead. It's likely Borg'll have these during the storm, so we better know how to deal with them. Now, break!" The men shout out for other soldiers to join them and then run to their designated locations. The ropes guys shimmy up and into the ceiling easily, and the bars men stand on top of the course, guns ready.

"Switch weapons to lethal!" Bide shouts, and small clicks fill the training room as the soldiers change their gun settings. "Simulation in three… Two… One."

Once I tap 'begin simulation' Bide and I sprint for the scaffolding as the full-sized blade monster bursts into being, letting out a mighty roar. I scramble up the ladder and can hear Bide following me, and when I reach the top whirl around to see what the monster is doing.

Right now the creature is lumbering around, tossing its head in the air and drawing its blades against each other, making a noisy sword-sheathing sound. The soldiers are not fazed, though, and have begun to draw the monster towards themselves.

"Oi! Over here!" The team of guys by the descending bars are waving their guns and shouting. A few take shots at the monster that ping off of the simulated armor and fizzle out into oblivion. I realize that the contact with the simulation has turned the bullets into simulation too. _Will my magic do that, too? Weird…_

The monster has caught on and begins shuffling forward towards Will and his team, but has not shown any weakness yet, so the guys start to climb higher, swinging their arms up for each bar like it's nothing. The creature lets out a tremendous noise of challenge and its clawed feet tear at the ground as it moves even more quickly towards the soldiers.

One of Will's men stops swinging up and pulls himself towards the wall, dangling over the ground held only by his hands, and the rest of the men keep moving upwards. The eyes of the monster – again blue, not red like in the Arena – follow the main pack of soldiers, and the lone soldier is unnoticed. I begin to have a vague picture of what Will has planned.

The shouts continue and sharp cracks sound from not only Will's group but the other groups as well, enraging the creature only further, and its eyes flash dangerously bright. Rearing up on its back two legs, but still keeping its scales tightly locked, it takes a swipe at Will's men. They all manage to dodge the blow, but one soldier lets out a panicked shout as he swings from one of the bars suspended by a few fingers. Gun clenched in the other hand, he cannot reach up and right himself again. The sharp eyes of the creature spot him and he rears for a second blow, and I see the blades shift and bend…

 _Now!_ I take a short breath and send a jolt of energy from my hands, and it streaks like lighting into the back of the monster, which has just pulled its arm back for the second swipe. Unfortunately, the monster twists when the painful spikes of energy race across its back, and it screams in pain and hunkers down to the ground again, wisps of steam curling from the blackened flesh below the scales. The dangling soldier cries out again and one of Will's men grabs his arm, balancing on the top of the bars, and heaves him up again.

Hunched and furious, the creature again looks at the main boy of soldiers, who have now begun to shoot at the injured portion of its back. The blades vibrate slightly when hit and the scorched skin the blades protrude from must throb with each blast, because the monster shrinks back, shuddering. Will's group has just given a shout of triumph when the creature coils back and then springs forward, and the soldiers can barely escape the sharp teeth of its maw. _The mouth could be a weak spot, too._

"Now!" Will shouts, and the other soldiers besides the one still hiding all leap from bar to bar until they fade into the ceiling. Enraged, the monster bellows and glares at the ceiling, trying to find its prey, until the lone soldier climbs out from hiding and shouts, "Hey!" This draws its attention, and the monster leans down to examine its new target, and I see the perfect shot.

My next attack is flawless, and the monster doesn't even have time to utter a final scream before the energy overpowers it and the simulation dissolves. Now the soldiers all shout in victory, sliding down from the ropes or the bars and meeting in the middle of the room, high-fiving in celebration. Bide commends Will on his single-soldier strategizing and he smiles and shrugs, but I can tell he is pleased. And in that moment I know that I can do this. I can work with these guys. And when Bide turns to me and smiles, I can't keep the grin from my face, either.

 **What do you think? Don't be afraid to tell me anything and everything! Besides, I love your reviews and support! Thanks a million.**

 **At least Ming seems like she's settling in well... We'll see about the others... *evil laugh***

 **Someone take the characters away from me, I'm so mean to them. Oh, well...**

 **Until next time, dear reader. Hope you enjoyed!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Heyo, my wonderful readers! Are you on the edge of your seat with anticipation?**

 **Probably not, but that's okay. Want to see how Lloyd is faring in Army?**

 **Me, too. With to further ado, let's a- _do it._**

 **(Aren't I punny? Read on!)**

As I slowly settle down on my bunk bed, muscles burning horribly, I wonder for the millionth time if Thrace has made a mistake putting me in Army.

Even at the start I knew I was a lost cause. Everyone in my barrack is at least eight or more years older than me, and although I'm sure they're bursting with questions about why I'm even here, they keep their silence. And if my age wasn't enough to secure myself a spot amongst the trash cans, the drills are.

Oh, the drills – my whole body aches just thinking about them. Running and climbing and pulling my limbs into twisted and torturous positions, personal combat, each one a spectacular disaster after another. Surprisingly, I wasn't last in running, a slightly overweight older man somehow managed to pull in behind me in the laps we had to run and had to climb the wall and down again without a harness. The monkey bars and shooting drills were a disaster, I fell every time on the bars and managed to hit the target a whopping three times. Cail, my barrack's supervisor or leader, whatever you call him, has told me to practice my shooting every day, but I don't think I can budge from my bed and waste my free time in the gym.

The other soldiers seem like nice people, but none of them have made any attempt to hold a conversation with me or talk to me at all. The most personal contact I've had with them is being at the receiving end of their piteous looks. At least they're good at what they do. Still, I can gain small satisfaction from the fact that other soldiers have trouble with the drills too. It's not much, though, and I wish more than anything that someone would at least speak to me.

Unable to stand it any longer, I walk out to the gym and take the elevator to the main lobby, which is full of people milling about happily. Most are watching the news feed beamed onto one of the walls, which is still showing the same news: always the patchless rebellion. Although it's great that the rebels are helping the citizens fight back against Borg, I feel torn between old and new loyalties. Has Borg ever really hurt people who abide by his laws? Life back at the Complex was reasonably good. But then the opposing side attacks – Borg has hurt those who disobey him, crafted himself a dictatorship, forced citizens into submission. The warring thoughts clash in my head and I shut my eyes briefly. _Forget about that. You have bigger problems now._

"Lloyd?" Someone asks, and I whirl around and see someone I recognize, the Darkness girl Ming. I wave shyly and she jogs over to me, smiling all the while. _At least one of us is happy,_ I think with melancholy, then smirk at how hopeless I sound. As Ming approaches I see three patches on her arm, and the guild patch is unfamiliar to me.

"What's that?" I ask, pointing to her arm, and she looks down and smiles.

"Oh, that! They made a new guild when I came in, and some of the soldiers from Army have joined and we're learning to fight together."

"What? Wait, why?" I ask, my brow furrowing.

"Well… I'm a sorceress." She says, watching my expression intently, and I try to keep the shock out of my voice.

" _What?_ " _Nice try._

"Yeah." She says, and raises a hand, where a small whirl of purple mist spins in a globe over her palm, curls of dark smoke rotating quickly. My eyes widen when I see it and Ming laughs a little.

"That's… That's incredible! How did you not just win the Games in a day?" I gape at the mist and Ming closes her hand, dispelling the magic.

"I guess I didn't fancy killing. But what about you, huh? How has rebel life been treating you?"

I'm so happy someone is speaking to me at last that I almost dance for joy. "Actually, not so great," I say, although it's just improved very much now. "I feel very alone here. In my barrack there's no one even remotely _near_ my age, and I'm a lousy soldier. Sometimes I think Thrace just had to put me somewhere."

Ming nods understandingly and ushers me over to a lift. "You have free period, right? We can go to a cafeteria and talk."

The cafeteria we go to is on a Mechanic's floor, and most of the tables are covered with gears and cogs and fluttering half-made machines, while their inventors pour over blueprints and twist screwdrivers. Ming finds a table with only a bit of motor oil on it and we sit quietly for a moment before she speaks.

"I felt the same way. When Kai told me help was on the way in the Arena… I really, really hoped that wherever we were going there would be someone else like me. Someone else who has the gift." She looks down at her hands and can almost feel the sadness in the gesture. "But there wasn't and they made a whole new guild for me – barracks and all, but it was all empty, like, _okay, go have fun!_ Everything I had hoped for was gone, and I was so alone. I know where you're coming from." My heart leaps at her words.

"Then they decided to send in some soldiers to train with, like a special squad, and we learn how to fight alongside one another. They'll also guard me in battle." She lets out a short breath and I give her a small smile. "One good thing is that they haven't done any crazy tests on me yet. I'm glad I'm not a lab rat here. Can't say that I wouldn't have that fate back at Borg Tower."

"So Borg knows you have magic?" I ask, and Ming shrugs.

"Probably yes. I used magic in the Games, and they had cameras everywhere."

"Okay." I say quietly, looking down at my hands.

"So what about you, soldier? Life here not treating you well?"

"No… It might just be me. I'm just not soldier material, I guess."

"Don't say that!" Ming laughs and grins at me. "I bet you're going to be the best soldier there is, just wait." For all of the encouraging things she has said, this seems kind of forced or fake, but I hide my disappointment with a smile and say something about target training, then excuse myself.

I do end up going back and practicing my shooting until the end of free time, and thankfully the only other soldier in the gym is a younger man from a different barrack than mine, and he trains on the other side of the gym. My shooting does improve after a while, though, and I'm reasonably pleased with myself when I finish. Most of the soldiers are still in the barracks when I return, talking or lazily lounging around on their bunks. I'm mostly ignored when I check the wall port and see that we have a short practice before dinner. Wondering what we could be doing, I barely make it to my bed before Cail enters the room and clears his throat, drawing the soldiers' attention.

"All right, Singles, let's go. Training." He says tritely, and the soldiers stand and pull on their shoes, getting ready to go. Since I'm already prepared I just fall into line and walk out with the other soldiers. The gym is set up differently from when I was there only moments ago: plastic tables for two occupy a good portion of the room, and on each table are two guns, a larger, longer gun and a shorter pistol like the one I practiced with.

"Basic weaponry. We'll be studying some more obscure ones later, but these are the guns you'll most likely use storming the Tower eventually." My blood runs cold and I look up sharply once I reach a table. _We'll be storming Borg Tower? What?_ "Here is your assault rifle." Cail holds up the gun for everyone to see, then taps the curved, protruding piece below the gun in front of the trigger. "Here's the mag. This is where the bullets go, and don't you forget. Here –" He unclicks something and the magazine falls with a clatter on the table. "That's how you dispose of an empty mag. Then –" Now he takes the mag and clicks it back into the gun, "That's how you put in a new one. I want you unloading and loading your guns until it's second nature, and do it fast. In the field you'll have a millisecond to reload your gun or you're Nindroid fodder. So be quick, soldiers. Go!"

My table partner takes the rifle first and finds the mag's lock, and I watch his fingers as he unclasps the mag and sets it on the table, then clicks it back in. He does this about ten times and then hands it to me. The gun is heavier than I expected and I strain to hold it, then unclasp and reclasp the mag, which isn't too hard. After about fifteen minutes of practice Cail walks around the tables and takes all of the magazines, then throws them around the gym and instructs us to stay put. He jogs to the wall port and a few soldiers groan or chuckle softly to themselves. In moments five Nindroids stare down at us, motionless, and Cail shouts from his position at the port.

"Listen up, soldiers! We've trained with Nindroids before, and you know their weak spots." _I don't!_ "Take a mag, load your gun, and disable the Nindroid. You will be in teams determined by your tables." My table partner looks at me for a second, then turns calmly away. "Teams to defeat any number of Nindroids will be exempt from extra practice after the drill." Cail's eyes shine with a malicious light and I gulp. "Drill starts in three… two… one!"

In an instant the Nindroids are animated and ready to fight, taking weapons from their toolbelts and brandishing them threateningly. For a wild moment I recall when Finn dressed me as a Nindroid for the dragon ride, then launch forward to get a mag. My table partner recognizes my plan and takes the assault rifle, then runs for cover as the Nindroids send out a spray of bullets at us.

 _Live fire?_ I think, panic bubbling in my stomach, and spin around when one soldier shouts in pain and surprise. A small burn steams on his jumpsuit, but what caused it is nowhere to be seen. _So the weapons are not lethal, but still dangerous._ When I look to my front again all of the nearby magazines have been taken and I sprint to catch up to the other soldiers, who are hunting for bullets as well.

The first rifle cracks alert me that someone has started to fight back, but the Nindroids still sound fully operational, and I don't want to look back again for fear of losing my chance at getting a mag. One soldier to my left seems to have more than one mag in his hand, and the deception makes me angry. I certainly don't want to do any extra practice today, and this guy is guaranteeing us more torture. Fueled by newfound energy, I dart ahead, searching for a magazine that hasn't been taken yet.

Finally, I see one, and almost groan at its horribly placed position. Balancing perfectly on top of the bars, a single mag gleams in the light of the training gym, and I allow myself a second to catch my breath before climbing up the ladder and gripping the first bar. _Can I do this? I don't want to give up, but still…_

And once I dangle from the first bar I realize I can't do this, as every muscle in my arm screams in pain. My grip slackens and I gasp but don't let go, forcing myself to hang for a second before moving to the next rung. Sweat pools on the bar as I rest for a moment, eyes watering from the agonizing burning in my arms, and for a second I'm sure my arms will be ripped from their sockets. _Come on, three more bars. Three more._ The next swing is equally if nor more painful than the first, and my arms are trembling so violently I almost fall multiple times. Rearing back, I reach forward and my fingers brush the next bar, but I can't get a grip on the rung. Now I'm hanging by one arm, and the torture is consuming, Perspiration drips down my face and I blink rapidly to clear the liquid from my eyes. _Keep going!_ Swinging back again, my damp palm smacks the next bar and I fasten my hand around it tightly, then follow with my other hand. _One more!_ One _more!_ Throwing my body backwards, I swing forward and my fingers upset the mag, which unbalances and tumbles to the ground; I follow it a second later, rolling awkwardly on contact and gripping the precious magazine in my sweaty fist.

I find my table partner and run towards him, pointing to the mag, and his face breaks into a huge grin – he probably didn't think I'd come back with a mag at all. I toss it to him and he loads the gun like we learned and points it at the closest Nindroid. Now that I'm closer I can hear the sounds of the soldiers fighting the robots. Electricity crackles and soldiers scream at each other, barking orders or yelping in pain as they're grazed with a bullet or shocked by a Taser. One man close to me gets a full Taser-blast in the chest and crumples, dropping his rifle to the ground with a clatter. I realize what I have to do when I'm already running towards him. Scooping up the rifle, I check the magazine and see that I have two more shots before I am out of ammunition. _Better make this count._ Spinning around and kneeling, I look through the scope and level the crosshairs with the glowing eye of the Nindroid.

 _Bang!_ The recoil rocks me back on my heels as the bullet is embedded in the robotic eye of the Nindroid, but the robot still seems fully functional. Now it has turned to me, though, and the handgun clasped in a metallic fist is enough to get me shooting again. The second shot is as true as the first and this time the glass eye of the Nindroid shatters and the ammunition burrows its way into the circuits in the robot's head. A loud whirr of slowing machinery echoes as the Nindroid freezes is place, then wilts and falls to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut. The other soldiers gasp as they see the crumpled robot on the ground, and my table partner lets out a loud whoop. Cail casts me a look of admiration and says, "You two are dismissed." I feel kind of bad for not knowing my partner's name when he comes over and gives me a high five and says, "Good job, Lloyd!" I smile and shrug like it was nothing. On the inside I'm bursting with pride, though. _I just defeated a Nindroid with an assault rifle! That'll make for a good story down the line…_

The soldiers who don't gun down their Nindroid in time have to climb the rock wall on the hardest part, and I'm incredibly relived I don't have to join their numbers. Only one guy makes it to the top, and he's so busy showboating and shouting to his friends that he slips and falls off of the wall, getting tangled in his harness on the way down and hanging from his feet halfway down, humiliated. Everyone laughs as he sheepishly rights himself and scrambles down the rock wall, and for a moment I feel at place in the Army barracks.

That night I gaze up at the bunk above me and smile before lights-out, remembering Ming's words. _I bet you're going to be the best soldier there is, just wait._ Maybe not the best, but I can do better. As I lie, my tense muscles throbbing, I manage to smile. Do I belong in Army? Can I do this?

And as the lights click off, I think I know the answer.

 **What do you think?**

 ***cranks amps up to 11***

 **What do you think?**

 ***amps shatter, electric guitar note whines***

 **Just turning it up, making sure you can hear me. I'm not just shouting into a vacuum, right?**

 **If you fancy it, type into that lovely little box your favorite part! A favorite character! Anything! Much appreciated.**

 **That's all for today, folks. Until next time!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Update day! Ready for more action!**

 **Of course you are! You're here, aren't ya?**

 **I realized I didn't include the little indicator of which POV the chapter is from in the last one, mea culpa. This time I've got it down.**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Seven – Kai

To put it simply, Army is easy. Training, while exerting, is not incredibly physically challenging, and the only thing that would be difficult, shooting, is made facile with my improved shooting method. I've risen from a pretty good soldier to a better-than-average soldier, better than most in my group, and no one can really avoid it now, which leads to sparks of enmity. And so I'm stuck in a predicament – pretend to dumb down my skills, stay squad-less but un-tormented, or perform well, hope to make rank, and face my squad's jealousy every day.

It's always small things that they do, and they're very careful about it: petty enough to avoid being reported, but annoying or painful enough to get their message across. One day all of my clean jumpsuits vanished and I found them that same day during training, suspended in the rafters by the ropes course. Locking doors, swiping my food, trying to trip me when I'm not watching. Although their small torments are certainly annoying, I get small bursts of pleasure to watch them try to break me. They're admitting their inferiority and try to bridge the gap by pleasing themselves. Watching me flourish, oblivious to their jabs, laughing at their attempts… Although it's the only way for me to stay above them, it keeps my enemies infuriated, and I know that only too soon will their attacks turn to violence.

As always, it's Rhys who leads the assault. I still don't know what I've done to him personally that rankled his so – maybe my comment on his breath, but to be fair, it is _rancid_ – but I can see by the glint in his beady eyes when I enter the barracks after training that he has a new wave of torture in action against me. Surprisingly, I make it to my bunk without incident, and then undo the rope lock I've made to keep out intruders after they took my clothes. The knot is a very intricate one, but my fingers fly in compliance with the code as I slide the fabric out and open the metal door. Again, I'm pleased to see that my personal items haven't been tampered with. The knot will keep most out, but a simple knife could cut it away easily. Now I feel a seed of worry in my stomach and wonder what Rhys has planned today _You have_ _to be light on your feet. Watch out._

For free time I exit the barracks, not wanting to give Rhys and his gang an opportunity to strike, and work in the gym. After only a few days in the rebel base the gym equipment's exercises have become rote to me, and I fall into the rhythm of working for almost half an hour before I take a break and shoot. To make the targets more difficult I try sprinting past them and shooting them, and use the wall port to make them move around. The ports really are awe-inspiring technology, and I know I can use some of the handy tricks embedded in the code in case anyone from Rhys' gang tries to fight me here. I was somewhat disappointed that the ciphers in the ports weren't more challenging, but now I have lots of tools at my disposal, and with the days ticking down before Rhys officially strikes I can use all of the weapons I have.

Some other soldiers train on the climbing wall, from a different barrack, but I don't go join them. Still, no one has made any attempt to even socialize with me, and although I don't like to admit it, the loneliness is beginning to wear at me. I can't say I can guess Thrace's plans, but what is his strategy here? Grind all of the emotion from me? I'm probably just another soldier in his ranks. Then what would saving me be worth? Daphnes would have his own squad by now if here were here. We all have a purpose, right?

I can sense the tension in the barracks when I return just before dinner, and the expressions of the soldiers only confirm my suspicions. Rhys and his known followers are nowhere to be seen. Before anyone can jump out I take a lift up as high as I can with soldiers' clearance, to a Mechanic's lab floor, and dine there with the scientists. The scene is amusing as I eat bland hamburger meat and watch the rebels work; most of them have taken their laboratory equipment and brought it to the cafeteria, mixing chemicals and resetting Bunsen burners and occasionally disappearing behind a puff of cobalt-blue smoke. I can glean from their experiments what they're trying to solve, what projects they're tasked, and for fun try to race one of the scientists to the conclusion of a certain problem, one concerning ozone-penetrating bolts and their reliability, and I'm satisfied when I come to a conclusion before he does. I'd be happy to stay and watch the other rebels eat, but Rhys taunts me from the barracks and I know I have to return. There's some free time between the end of dinner and lights-out, and I tarry as long as I can in the cafeteria before a Service lady comes in to clean for the night and says that I really do have to go. As I walk back to the barracks I keep my head high, refusing to show any sign of weakness to any soldier who might be watching. The paranoia might drive me mad, but Rhys has startled me in places unexpected, and I can't be vulnerable like that again.

The seed of worry has grown to stress once I reach the barracks. Sleep is the time I feel the most open, the most defenseless, because if Rhys attacks while I sleep… I wouldn't be able to stop him. Like always, I assess the scene for danger before entering, making sure that I'm safe for now, and besides Brock, one of Rhys' followers, lounging on his bunk, I don't see any other obvious threats, and walk to my bunk, dodging a protruding foot as it tries to tangle with mine, then grab my toothbrush and go the bathroom to clean up before bed.

Spirits sinking as I enter, I spot Rhys and a cluster of his cronies gathered by the urinals and watch them for a moment. They notice me, of course, but just sneer and turn away after a short glance. After spitting my toothpaste in the sink I turn to see that they are gone, but I can hear their laughter from the barracks and wonder what form of twisted enjoyment they have planned.

I don't find out until after lights-out, when I lie in my bed tense and unable to sleep, just waiting for the first sound of someone shifting, moving from their bed and softly walking towards mine.

I'm jostled groggily from sleep and first feel cold metal underneath my feet, then the gag in my mouth as I turn my head, trying to take in my surroundings. My feet and hands are bound and someone is standing close by, and I expect he sees me moving and trots over.

"'Ey, look here! He's up!" The thick, drawling voice of Jex revels what I was fearing all along – Rhys has finally struck. Hands push me up roughly and I balance quickly, fingers working at the knots that bind my hands. For all he is Rhys is not clever, and the knots he has tied are standard nautical knots that can be easily and quickly undone, although they appear strong. I smirk for a second before a hand whips out from the darkness and lashes across my face. Spitting blood, I push my way up, hearing the laughter of the soldiers through the ringing in my ears. Again I'm pulled upright and take the opportunity to look around quickly, taking in the scene with wide eyes.

I'm standing on top of a platform on the catwalk that runs over the training room by the barracks. The height is staggering, something I never noticed before until now, when I'm in danger and with adrenaline pumping through my veins. Six soldiers stand around me, three on my left and three on my right, blocking my exits. If it were just three on one side I could take them, but with the others behind me I know I won't stand a chance. Still, I manage to land a solid, swiping punch that knocks Jex to the catwalk, cursing and blinking to clear his head, before someone grabs me from behind and knees me so hard in the stomach that I'm paralyzed for a moment, gasping wildly for air. And still they laugh, laughing at my pain and their dominance, at the best soldier in the barracks lying at their feet.

"We could hurt you, Burns. Hurt ya real bad, so you'd be a Service, an' what good'll you be then?"

"I call dibs." Jex says, his voice breathy, and a crushing kick to my ribs follows.

"Same!" A thick-headed soldier named Wyatt interjects, but I roll to avoid his kick and swipe my legs and tangle them with his. The heavy boy drops and I'm up in an instant, then nail Brock with a punch to the stomach and nearly clear Wyatt's fallen body before Rhys grabs my wait and slams me to the catwalk again.

"Hold 'im!" He screams, and hands fasten on my arms and legs. Pinned, I can only glare at Rhys as he bends down, a sick smile twisting at his lips.

"There we go. That's better." He smiles, and I laugh bitterly, feeling blood drip down my chin and stain my jumpsuit.

"You're so _brave,_ Rhys. So strong. I can't believe six guys could subdue me – in fact, it seems a miracle. No honor in this victory, is there?" Rhys roars and his knuckles dig into my scalp and he throttles me again, but I'm too busy laughing to really care. Taunting them will only make them feel more inferior. _Never give in._

"Stop laughing!" The gang leader shouts, and I only grin in return.

"Try and stop me!" I'm rewarded with a battery of blows, each like being hit with a truck, but I just keep cackling madly, held down on the catwalk. Breathing hard, Rhys restrains his anger – I can see him trying to force it down, and when he speaks again the strain in his voice is deep.

"Riddle me this," Rhys begins, his voice soft yet malicious. "Why are you laughing? How can you… Laugh?" I only shake my head, his lack of understanding staggering.

"Don't you get it?" I ask, laughing even more now, and if he hits me again I can't tell. Rhys doesn't understand that each blow is a sign of his weakness. Sending five guys with him to fight me is a sign of his weakness. Him asking me why I laugh… It all shows how little power he possesses.

While Rhys silently rages I free my left arm and jam my elbow into a soldier's face, then twist and break the nose of the one holding my right arm with a well-placed punch before Rhys floors me with a kick so strong it knocks me against the catwalk barrier. "Stop!" He screams, and I roll on my back, laughing silently, each breath sending a knife into my ribs.

"Make me! Make me stop!" I mutter, and Rhys doesn't hit me this time. Or maybe he does, I can't tell. Everything is beginning to grow fuzzy now. _Can't black out now, stay in it!_ Rhys is the only soldier I haven't attacked yet; the others are still recuperating. This I can use. Slowly and gingerly, wincing from spikes of pain in a thousand different places, I stand and face Rhys. The gang leader is turned away from me, so I kick out high, my sturdy boot connecting at the base of his neck, and Rhys crumples. As I walk off of the catwalk and climb the ladder down I'm relieved none of the other soldiers try and stop me. I barely remember falling into bed.

When I wake up I realize I'm still in my clothes I wore yesterday, and when I attempt to stand every part of my body screams in protest. Forcing myself upward, I realize my sheets are bloody and collect them for cleaning. Some of the other soldiers who are still awake toss me strange looks, but I remain as dignified and in-control as always, then grab a new jumpsuit and walk into the bathroom to change.

Once I reach a mirror I see what the soldiers were staring at. Dried blood drips down over my chin and stains the collar of my jumpsuit. Both of my eyes are brilliantly blackened, and bruises and shallow gashes cut across my face. Hastily I clean the blood off and when I smile I see my teeth are tinted red, too. When I get in the shower I see my abdomen is a patchwork of black, purple, and green, battered from the fight last night, and I wash out any wounds I can, then dress in my jumpsuit again and prepare for morning training after breakfast.

During the meal I see Rhys and his gang eating at a table, all showing marks from our encounter last night, and by the way some soldiers' eyes flick back and forth between the two of us I can tell they are drawing conclusions. _And they'll know that I've won._ Nothing can really make up for the post-fight injuries, but I feel that same spark of pleasure that momentarily covers the pain. _They'll know I've won._

Training is positively torturous, and while Ream notices the injuries of many soldiers in his group, he doesn't make any comments. Every motion I make is like dragging broken glass across an open wound caked in salt, especially when we have to cross the monkey bars and climb the ropes, like I'm being torn in two pieces. Rhys and his friends can't conceal their limps or winces as they practice, but I keep a straight face all through the day, staying impassive for anyone who might be watching. And today, Rhys doesn't fight back.

After training I use my free period to report to a Service member for moderate treatment, and while they try to put me in the hospital for a night I manage to get off with pain meds and minimal stitching.

"But, sir," The flustered nurse says, glancing down at my evaluation in disbelief, "it says here you have fractured ribs, six stitches… We're required to hospitalize you for this!"

Painfully I shake my head. "No, really, I need to train. Is there anything else you can do?" Thankfully she sends me off without much bravado, only giving me a paper pass to bring back in case I tear my stitches.

When I return to the barracks after dinner I notice most of Rhys' gang is gone and ask my bunkmate where they've gone.

"Hospital!" He replies cheerily. "Oi, did you get cornered by them? You did a number on 'em! Then again, they did a number on you, too, eh?"

I shut the pass in my locker, retie my knot locking it, and relax on my bunk waiting for the lights to snap off, ignoring the pulsing pain from my injuries. Now everyone knows what I've done, that I'm stronger than Rhys is. Will he come back for revenge? I'll take longer to recover than he will. Or will he bide his time, planning a better, more complete attack. _He wants me gone, he said so. How can he achieve that?_

The lights click off and I lie silently in my bunk, closing my eyes, blocking the events of last night. Ream meant what he said when we first met, I have been pushed around. But replacing the pain is determination. I _will_ make rank. I will get out of this barrack and fight, and _no one_ will ever be able to push me around again.

An emotion I don't want to admit then overwhelms me, and I bite my lip when I identify it.

 _I am… afraid._

 **I guess the rebel base isn't panning out to all they were hoping it to be...**

 **Well, my lovely readers, what did you think? If you fancy, go and drop in a review and tell me your opinion so far! Much obliged.**

 **As for news - there is none, frankly. If this keeps up we may resort to writing random facts again.**

 ***screams in distance***

 **I'll take that as a no. (Just kidding. Or am I?)**

 **Well, I guess I'll see you around. Until next time!**


	8. Chapter 8

**First off, apologies for the Sunday update. And we were doing so well! *remembers Tuesday update and shudders***

 **The wait is over, and chapter eight is here! Weight, eight, I'm so punny. Or rhyme-y. Or something.**

 **Without further ado, let's do it! Read on.**

Chapter Eight - Wu

"Are we here for status or for brunch?" Scourge asks irritably as we sit at another meeting table that has idled for nearly an hour.

"Wish we were, I could use some bite-sized muffins." Quips a younger soldier, and a few people chuckle.

"Then let us formally begin," Thrace says, smiling thinly at the delegates. "Welcome again. Today is, as one of our own has helpfully informed us, a status update on the tributes. Can I have Johnson, please?"

Johnson stands, holding in his hands a thick and messy-looking file in his hands, with papers and photographs poking out of the manila. "Yes, sir. First, the All-Element boy has improved somewhat as a soldier, and he does have potential to make squad. It will take time, though." Garmadon practically glows with pride barely concealed and I can hear him straighten next to me.

"The Fire boy engaged with a few of his… Opponents in his training group and was victorious. He is injured, but not seriously, and I expect he will continue training well. Giving his potential I would expect him to join a squad soon, sir… That and the fact that I believe that said opponents will strike again, and with decreased chances of their losing."

Thrace doesn't seem concerned – if anything, he appears to be more relaxed. "How so, Johnson?"

The man swallows and glances at his rifled file. "Well, sir, the fact that the Fire boy emerged on top of the gang of soldiers in his group will be upsetting to the soldiers he injured. They will strike back with more ferocity and intelligence than before."

"But the Fire boy will know this." Thrace says. Johnson says nothing. "And what on the other tributes?"

"The Lightning boy is adjusting well. Mechanic's is grateful for him to be with us now!" An older woman says, smiling. "I've sent some of the blueprints to you via port." Thrace nods, then turns to another woman.

"And the Ice boy?"

The woman stands, smoothing her jumpsuit as she does so. "His inventions rival any that we have pioneered so far. I expect this will give us a significant advantage over President Borg when we encounter him next."

"But still no solution to our elemental problem?" Thrace asks, not in a prying manner, but casually.

"No, sir. They both are trying, though." The second woman says, the first nodding along with her.

"That's all well. Next, the Earth boy?"

"He's in the Tactical group for leaders-to-be, sir, learning advanced troop manipulation and placement. The course is rigorous, sir, but he's a good student, and has an uncanny knack for knowing the correct answers, especially in disputed situations, such as hostage-interrogation and negotiation. Like the Fire boy, I expect him to rank soon. However, unlike the Fire boy, he is not the top of his class, but given his age I'd say that he would be in a group of his peers." A burly man across the table says.

"And how is the Darkness girl shaping up?"

"So far the squad idea is producing fine results, sir! The men genuinely like her, and their morale is high. Right now they appear to be drilling using the port simulation program, and their training is very vigorous and is coming along well. She will be an asset when we take the Tower, along with her squad."

"Very well, but we are still missing one tribute – the Light boy. Has the autopsy proven anything?"

A slick-haired man stands to respond, and for a moment I wonder where the mortuary in the rebel base is. "Autopsy… Um, no. Our best guess is that the poison in his system was engineered to be undetectable on our technology, which I'd assume is less developed than Borg's if he can pull this off." Troubled whispers fill the meeting room. "We can tell it's poison based on the reaction – foam at the mouth, the protruding veins, but not where the poison originated, what its source is. More questions than answers. Sorry, sir."

Thrace shakes his head as if this is no bother. "Thank you, soldier." With a bob of his sleek head the man sits down. "I believe this concludes our meeting. I appreciate your time."

"Would you like to see some of the tributes?" Garmadon asks me when we exit the meeting. "See them train, I mean. I'd like to see some of the technology-wizard kids at work. Funny how things turn out. Normally they're just tributes, but now they're geniuses. Want to come?" I nod my agreement and am about to ask if we should ask Scourge and Eli, but Scourge has already left and Eli is still angry at me for reasons untold, so I simply follow my brother to the correct floor where the Earth boy trains and we enter the training room.

Unlike the Army training rooms, this space has been divided into offices, but the ceiling is open and you can see the scaffolding above. One-way mirrors form windows for us to watch into, and my brother and I carefully meander our way to the room where the Earth boy is.

He doesn't seem to be younger than his fellows, given his height, and later I see his influence over them and the thought is even more evident. A teacher or instructor of some kind stands in the corner of the small office space watching as the students mill around a table on which is a battle-plans board, with figurines and everything. Each student hold a sort of prodding stick that they use to move the pawns across the board, but none seem to be making any adjustments, just musing quietly over the plans. One impatiently taps the stick across his knuckles, keeping a steady rhythm. Posters and sheets of paper are pinned to the walls and occasionally one of the soldiers will glance over at one or take it off of the wall for reference, then return it. The wall port displays a holographic report – the weather. A few soldiers are pacing, glancing now and then at the battle board. All the while the instructor looks steadily on, face deadpan.

"What are they doing?" I ask, and Garmadon frowns as he looks at the battle board.

"A drill for strategy. Winning and losing matter, too, in Tactical, I just don't know how. They keep track or something. This is a team, I believe – they're not permanent – and once they come to a consensus on their attack they go for other training. That's the Earth boy?"

"Yep," I reply, watching as a soldier walks up to the board meaningfully, then shrinks back and continues pacing.

After a few minutes of wait Cole makes his move, stepping up to the board and moving the pawns into different positions, not looking back at his teammates, fixated on the task at hand. He moves the figurines into a complicated dance-looking shift, and once he is satisfied he sets his prod on the table. The other soldiers only glance at the board before putting theirs near his and the instructor walks to the port and unlocks the door, stepping back as the soldiers stream out of the door. Cole is the last to leave, and he glances over at me before stopping and coming our way.

"He's probably got questions." Garmadon mutters, barely moving his lips, and I nod.

"Hello, sir," Cole says, shaking my hand, and he nod briskly at Garmadon. There's a dangerous flash of anger in his eyes, briefly, and I find myself tensing. _Relax. He's not going to hurt you._

"Good to see you too." I smile at Cole, but he nods dismissively and moves along in conversation.

"If you don't mind, sir, may I speak to you?"

I blink, startled, then nod and begin to walk to the cafeteria, where the soldiers are walking. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

Cole looks troubled as he begins to speak again. "Well, sir, I was only wondering… My dad is still at the Complex, and it's just the two of us. When I was there I supported most of the family matters – he used to be a member of a musical group, but there's no money in that now – and with the rebellion and all, I can't say where his loyalties lie. We used to be very, um, Borg-loving." He flushes ever so slightly. "So I don't know what Thrace's plans are to keep the families safe, but I want to make sure he's still included. Even if he hasn't joined the rebellion yet, even if he is opposed to it. I just didn't know how deep Thrace's rebel loyalties are – I mean, I know they're deep and all, him being the rebel leader, but if he would be opposed to anything."

Solemnly I turn to the Earth boy and place a hand on his shoulder, which he doesn't shake off, to my surprise. "Trust me when I say this, Cole. When Thrace says he means to do something, he does it."

Letting out a short breath of relief, the Earth boy smiles. "Okay. Thanks. Thank you." Then he trots after the soldiers going to mess, and I see him meet up with some younger men, and they begin to talk lightly, openly. _At least one of the tributes has friends here…_

As we pass more office spaces I see more groups of soldiers sweating over the battle plans. With my menial trading experience I can see a few moves that could be strategically significant, but not the whole picture, and wonder why the Fire boy isn't in Tactical. Why waste his talents in Army when he could predict the moves of Borg, use his soldiers to tear through forces of Nindroids?

"Do you think we could visit Lloyd? See how he's doing, you know." Garmadon asks, watching the soldiers slowly fill the cafeteria, arriving in bunches as they finish their battle plans.

"Can we?" I ask aloud.

"I don't know. I feel like I should – I'm indebted to, as a father – but also we need him to become a good soldier. Is there a space in there for weakness?" I understand my brother's reasoning, but the instinct to visit Lloyd feels like the right thing to do.

"I don't know either. Let's play it safe and leave him be for now. Want to go see the news?" The news-watching at the base has risen since the patchless rebellion has reached a critical scale, and it's only a matter of time before the citizens overpower the Nindroids and the rebel soldiers begin to come in to help train the patchless for war. So far, though, the rebellion has not reached the brim.

Like during the Games, a large picnic scene awaits me as I step out of the lift with Garmadon, watching the projected screen that blares the news, scrolling text at the bottom a brilliant red: _Citizens on high alert; Remember to Stop-Fade-Depart method when confronted with a rebel attack; Always remember, President Borg is there for you and your needs!; Report any rebel activity to a nearby Nindroid, then Stop-Fade-Depart._

"Crazy, eh?" A passing soldier asks over his soldier, holding a plate of bland rations and maneuvering his way through the crowd to his seat. The screen flashes with clips of the Games, particularly before the cameras cut out, and the scrolling words read: _What really happened then? Borg refuses to answer when questioned, televised interview coming next!_ And it turns out that next is now, because Borg's face fills the screen as the interview begins to broadcast. Boos and jeers fill the lobby and some people throw food at Borg's image until an angry voice crackles over the intercom.

"Oi! Service'll be cleaning those walls later, ungrateful Singles!" This quiets down the soldiers and they sit back to watch the newsfeed.

"So, President Borg," begins a young interviewer, hands folded on her lap politely, "Could you tell us about what happened in the Games? The very last part we saw before the cameras cut out?"

Borg's face is a mask of calm and forced happiness, making him look waxy and wan. "Of course!" He says cheerily, smiling at the interviewer, and she simpers. "Unfortunately, the few citizens who were aroused used their admittedly feeble might to take out a power grid. This triggered a malfunction in the forcefield surrounding the Arena, and the air inside the forcefield became superheated, destroying anything inside." The interviewer's hands fly to her face in shock, and I am also surprised. Borg lied to the citizens, of course, but he admitted that he was at fault, at least partially, for the Arena's destruction.

"And the tributes?" Whispers the woman, and Borg shakes his head grimly, then takes the moment of silence to face the camera, squaring his shoulders proudly.

"In memory of these fine young men and women, and in memory of all who have been killed or injured as a result of the rebellious people in the Complex, I would like to give my personal and solemn word that I will put a _stop_ to these lawbreakers' actions. No more innocents will die under my watch. They will be eradicated!"

"Aw, I'd like to see you try," A smooth voice drawls, followed by many more voices shouting, until the interviewer's reply is drowned out.

"More Nindroids are being produced every day." Borg says firmly, and then a short commercial-like sequence is shown which depicts the _Stop Fade Depart_ action.

"Whenever you're ready," Garmadon says, and I follow him out of the lobby and we ride the lift back to our quarters, not speaking until we arrive at our rooms.

"Well, see you later," He remarks quietly, and I nod and close the door to my room, watching the TV stream the same interview and wonder again how to change the channel before I walk out of the privacy of my quarters and back to the lobby again, sitting on the corner of the bed and watching the news until the lights click off.

 **Borg, slimy as always. Not physically, I mean. You get the idea.**

 **Okay, so I actually picked up writing this again (finally) but we're still on schedule - relatively. I'll try to keep the updates on Fridays again.**

 **One writer to another (or reader) it would mean a lot to me if you review. I'm totally in the dark of what you think of the new story, so it would be awesome if you reviewed! Thanks so so much!**

 **I guess that's all for now. Until next time!**


	9. Chapter 9

**To a guest review that changed everything. Enjoy!**

Chapter Nine - Ming

Bide has us running the simulations every practice until we've mastered them, and I think the awe of fighting a holographic contraption has worn to acceptance. We practice individually attacking the sim, first me, then the soldiers, then together against one, and then together against multiple enemies, increasing their intelligence, durability, and speed, making each spawned simulation more and more difficult. Although the soldiers are tired after practice I can tell they're also excited, looking forward to the next day when they can learn how to disable another portion of Borg's defenses. We are meant to be an elite group of soldiers and I think that we have finally become so – or maybe when we finish the simulations we will be. Sometimes Bide will throw in another sim that we have faced in the past into the mix of that day's simulations, and we have to adjust to the new threat, like changing gears on a bicycle, and we've become very good at it. I'm technically the leader of the guild/squad – whatever we are – but Bide has mostly taken command, a bridge between magic and might.

Today's sim was a large, scaly serpent, unassuming save for its large size and the lasers coming from its eyes. A good shot down the mouth would end its life, but like the blade monster, was a motion hard to force upon it. Still, the soldiers did well, with Asa firing the killing blow, and they were in good spirits at the end of practice.

As I walk into my private quarters (I don't have to share with the soldiers, though I think other women in squads may not have the same privilege) my wall port beeps cheerfully and I see Thrace has summoned me to his office. Swiftly I scroll the recipients and see that Cole and Kai have also been called for, so I won't be alone. I haven't formally spoken to my former ally since we arrived at the base – is he a 'former' ally if we never severed the alliance, or not? _And you're worrying about_ this _? Get a move on!_

I jog to the lifts and speed up to Thrace's office, knock on the door to the right of the 'rebel leader' sign, and wait. I'm the first to arrive, and Thrace ushers me to a chair in front of his desk, seats himself, and smiles openly at me, which I find a little intimidating despite the meaning of 'smile,' since all he struck me as during our previous encounters was shrewd and intelligent, not warm.

"The other soldiers have longer practices, but they should be here any minute now." He says, and I nod stiffly, not wanting to start conversation. Thankfully, Thrace doesn't either, and a few only-moderately-awkward minutes a clear, sharp knock echoes in the silence and I rise to receive the newcomers.

Cole I see first, standing close to the door and adjusting his jumpsuit so that it looks crisp and professional, with Kai behind him, more relaxed. With a silent gesture I show them in and they take their seats, eyeing Thrace suspiciously.

"Welcome, soldiers," Thrace says, some of the warmth in his voice tapering off. "There is something I wish to show you." He makes no move to stand or actually show us something, though.

"Umm… What? What do you want to show us?" Cole finally probes, sparing Kai and I the embarrassment of having to ask.

"Follow me." Replies Thrace simply, and he walks to the door, and I follow in his wake, remembering a foggy memory of playing follow-the-leader back at the Complex, and I hear Cole and Kai stand and plod after us, footsteps nearly soundless in the thick carpet that is apparently restricted to this floor only. Thrace enters the lift and places a card in a slot, a fancy keycard for restricted access, I assume, and we zoom down on the longest lift ride I've taken until I'm almost sure we're miles underground, then the sharp ding sounds and Thrace walks out, and we peer around his frame to see what the secret room is – an uncomfortably tight corridor that stretches for ten yards before ascending into stairs that climb as far as I can see.

"I hope training has gotten you in decent shape," Thrace half-jokes, and after what seems to be an infinite number of steps I see what he means. The only break in the climb is when we reach the occasional set of blast doors, each at least three feet of solid steel, and Thrace swipes his keycard and the doors creak open to let us pass, then shut firmly with a swish, and many strange mechanical noises follow as we ascend even further.

Once I'm sure my calf muscles have turned to liquid lava the steps abate and Thrace walks a distance before reaching another set of blast doors, then turns to face us. Unlike me, his face is un-flushed and lacks the sheen of sweat across my forehead. Eyes dark, he looks around the corridor, then begins to speak.

"I thought you might want to see this. All of our food is produced indoors, with some plants cultured by the sun but not exposed to it… You'll understand once we exit the doors."

"And what about the others?" Kai asks, hands in his pockets, looking reasonably unfazed by the stairs.

"They will come during a separate time. Now," He swipes the card and the blast doors unlatch and begin to rumble open, "Enjoy."

The sunlight stabs into my eyes and I wince, shielding them, then gasp at what I see. _We're outside._ Fading rays of sunlight dapple the grass, turning the blades to gold, and the trees shift and wave lazily in the breeze, rising up and down gently rolling hills that spread to the horizon, untouched. The boys come and stand next to me and I catch their expressions: Cole's face is wide and smiling, but Kai's is a mask of nothing, no emotion at all. I think I see a flash of something in his eyes, though, but can't place it.

"Here." Thrace hands the keycard to Cole. "It will open the door back to base. Come back before training tomorrow." And with that simple statement, he goes back into the doors and departs.

"Wait… What?" Cole gawks at the door, the smile still sparkling in his eyes. "What do we do? What's the point?"

"Maybe he thinks we need a break or something. Because we're such exceptional young people, thrown into a grown-up's job." Kai says, kind of cynically, but I'm too busy gazing at the forest to really care.

"Well, what do you say? I'd hate to repeat the Hunger Games, but exploring doesn't sound so bad right now." Cole asks, smiling as he looks over at me. I nod my assent and we start off into the trees. Having gotten out of the Games so recently I still feel on edge as we move away from the base entrance, but I can feel all of the training tension melting away as I take another step, bit by bit.

We wander across a small lake and Cole suggests we stop, so I take off my boots and socks and wade a few feet into the frigid water tentatively, splashing the legs of my jumpsuit. It's too cold to swim, but I enjoy walking around in the water for a few minutes before I rejoin the boys onshore. We begin conversation easily, and I find myself relaxing even more as I lie on the grass, watching the trees sway overhead.

"So, what made you a Career?" Kai asks, and Cole laughs shortly.

"Not really a choice for Earth tributes, unlike _you._ Why didn't you team up with us?" Cole turns to face Kai, who just shrugs.

"I don't know about you, but I'm pretty keen on living, mate." He replies, and Cole and I laugh.

"What's it like in an alliance?" I wonder, curious about how Cole's alliance was as opposed to the one I had with Kai.

"Very tense, like someone would suddenly so AWOL and kill everyone else. I was kind of the mediator, making sure everyone was calm and not mad at each other. Didn't realize until I got here and saw recaps that Sawyer killed Kris – she was my element-mate, you know. And he wanted to kill us, too, you could tell. Everyone was crazy good, and skilled. Ming, I'm still not forgiving you for attacking me there at the end."

"Why, did she neuter you?" Kai laughs, and Cole glowers at him.

"I got him in the jaw, too." I add, and Cole throws up his hands and groans.

"So," I begin, turning around to lie on my stomach, "How is life in Earth? We never really know what it's like in other elements."

"Well, I live with my dad – mom is out of the picture, never really knew how – but anyways, dad used to be a musician/singing type before his band fell through, and he can't get too much money off of musical jobs, so I kind of hold the family together."

"Aren't you the superhero then?" Kai smirks, and Cole tosses a twig at him. I'm surprised the two guys are getting along but am very glad that they are nonetheless.

"I do some work at the market, usually helping people carry things around, and you'd be surprised how many weak and flimsy Earth people there are, so I have – had – pretty steady business. Until now, I guess." Cole's confident expression crumbles and he lowers his eyes. "That's what I'm most worried about. My dad. He won't be making too much money with me gone, not like money means anything now with the rebellion, I don't know, and what cash I make can be spent pretty quickly on necessities. And my family is…" He trails off and blushes.

"Borg-loving?" I say quietly, and Cole nods.

"I was talking to Wu earlier and he said he'd still be included in the saving-of-the-tributes'-parents-and-family deal, but still."

"I'm in the same boat." Kai says, putting his hands behind his head. "My sister's still at the godforsaken Complex, and I don't know what's going on there, or if she's still alive, whatever. I'd assume so, but you can never know, right?" Cole nods, and I think that his anxiety has lowered somewhat.

After a few minutes of silence Cole speaks again, and his tone is more even.

"Why do you _really_ think we're out here?"

"Like I said," Kai responds, "Thrace might think we need a break. Never seeing sunlight after the Games, and have you seen a soldier younger than us in wherever-you're-stationed? I bet not. He might think we need some recuperating time."

"Speaking of recuperating, what truck hit you?" Cole muses, and I lean over to get a good look at Kai for the first time, and gasp when I see how battered he is, with black eyes and bruises and cuts that clue to a fight.

"This is a tale for the ages," He begins, rolling upright with a grunt and addressing us like a teacher to students. "I was just minding my own business, training in Army, when it appears that I've rankled a gang of soldiers in my barracks, who think I'm going to make squad before them, which is true."

Cole raises and eyebrow and I make a small noise of skepticism, but Kai continues, unfazed. "So they tie me up navy-style and I awake on the catwalk of the training gym with six of 'em facing me." He holds out his arms in a gesture of the burly-ness of his assailants, then lowers them slowly. "And I do the natural thing, fight them to try to get away, which, in a _masterful_ show of strength and skill, leads to my escape. However, I did not exit unscathed."

I clap slowly at the end of his regaling and sit up too, crossing my legs. Cole is staring at Kai with wonder on his face.

"Wait, six of them? Six?"

"No more, no less." Kai says, nodding.

"Cole," I say, turning to the Earth boy, "You're in Tactical, right?"

"Yup."

"What do you do there?" I'm asking Cole a lot of questions, but Kai and I have already conversed before.

"Well, we do some Army training and stuff, but there's intellectual aspects, too." Cole seems to become more animated as he talks about his training, and I can tell he enjoys it. "The main thing is the battle scenario test we take. The group leaders divide the barracks into smaller groups and we're taken to the gym which is set up in offices, and there's a battle table there, with the figurines and all," He gestures a motion resembling shuffleboard, but I know what he's talking about, "And the groups have to move the pawns to the next strategic move. All the information you need is pinned to the walls, but it's totally random and you have to hunt it out. It's very fun, though, like a puzzle."

"Are you any good at it?" Kai asks, and Cole blushes again. "Ah, don't be like that. I'm the best in my group in Army, and Ming's a sorceress. We can take it."

"I mean, I – wait, a sorceress?" Cole stares, and I wave a hand.

"I'll explain in a minute. Keep talking."

"Um, okay. Yeah, I am pretty good. After figuring out the defenses of the opposing army it's not too hard to put the pawns in good places. They keep score, too, of the wins and losses in each group, and it's next to your name on the port. Now… A _sorceress?"_

Waving my hand again, I summon a small wisp of purple energy and watch it twine between my fingers. "Yeah. I've just had this gift."

"Whoa." Cole's jaw drops, then he realizes what he is doing and closes his mouth again.

The next few hours are spent talking aimlessly. Kai explains the leaf code to Cole and I, and Cole shows us how to make bread dough out of a tall-stalked plant nearby – we only get to the flour part – and the Cole asks me, not too discreetly, if I can fly, and I shove him in the lake, which results in a hardcore water war, and when we finally clamber out of the lake we're soaked to the bone but laughing hysterically.

"See? Who says we're adult, uptight soldiers now?" Cole asks, running his hand through his water-drenched hair.

"To see Thrace out here in a floaty, that's what I want." I say, and we dissolve into laughter again at the image.

The sun begins to set, lengthening the shadows cast by the trees and turning the sky to a brilliant pastel pink and purple haze. However, no one wants to return back to base just yet, and we stall for time as the stars begin to peek out from the sky's curtain.

"What awaits you at base?" Kai asks Cole and I as we again recline on the grass, watching the water drip from our sodden clothing.

"Me? Jealous soldiers and no friends."

"A squad of smelly soldier guys that I have to command."

" _Angry_ jealous soldiers and no friends."

"You know how Thrace says that the victory of the world rests on our soldiers? A bunch of teenagers lying around a lake?"

"And we have some magical potential – no pun intended, Ming – that needs to be nurtured…"

"I don't get it." Cole says, frowning. "How can a bunch of kids change the world? I get we're good, exceptional, all that, but really, why us? How are we so special when others aren't? Were we just a convenient batch of geniuses?"

"Don't think so." Kai adds.

"Then what?"

"Think on that when we're back in base." I say, because it's getting very dark now, and we should be heading in. The stars twinkle down at us from afar, and Kai points up at them like he did one night during our alliance.

"I used to wish they were jewels. Strange, huh? Call them big, gaseous celestial bodies, but I wanted them to be more. Something unexplained."

As I gaze upward, bathed in the starlight, I smile, watching the gemstones twinkle against their velvet background.

"I wish they were, too."

 **Okay, I think I miscommunicated last chapter... We still have at least thirty chapters of this bad boy in store for you, so don't worry. Ming, Lloyd, Kai and Wu aren't going anywhere just now!**

 **Once again, I have to thank you for reading. It means so much to me that people care about this story and have read it all the way through, this crazy piece of work I've poured my heart and soul into, so thank you. Thank you for caring, thank you for reading!**

 **What did you think of the chapter? I enjoyed writing this one a lot (like half a year ago... I've been working on FP for a _loooong_ time) but what did you think? Don't be afraid to review, and now you won't be the first ;)**

 **Thanks again and until next time!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hello to my most favorite reader (and the one with the best taste!) Or readers, plural. Whatever.**

 **Welcome back to False Prophets! (I think this is my new line, "Welcome back to _." Read on is better.)**

 **My beginning author's notes are lame, since I save the news for the end. Which *gasp* we actually have this week!**

 **Enough stalling on my part. Read on!**

Chapter Ten – Lloyd

'Graduation Ceremony' reads my wall port this morning, scheduled during normal practice time, and I'm incredibly relieved there will be no training today, since I could barely pull myself out of bed this morning. The atmosphere in the barracks is intense and electrified, with everyone mumbling and whispering and pointing, even the most steadfast of soldiers unable to keep beads of sweat from their brows. _Am I supposed to be afraid?_ The other soldiers all seem antsy and nervous, but should I be too? What is the Graduation Ceremony? Suddenly I'm filled with the charged anxiety of the soldiers, but my fears are ones of curiosity, fears from someone who doesn't know the terror or excitement of some upcoming event.

Cail, looking particularly smart today, comes in and orders us into rows, then we're marched out into the gym like a normal practice day. The other barracks come with us too, which is particularly odd, because I've never seen more than ten people from the other barracks around during training or free time, and now they're all here. A few soldiers wave discreetly or wink or whisper without getting caught, and I search the even rows for anyone I know, to no avail. For a desperate second I wish Ming were here too, so I could have some companionship in unfamiliar territory, then banish the thought. _You're on your own now – act like it!_

After two weeks of coming to the gym set up differently almost every day, I'm hardly surprised to see chairs set up in front of a small stage that spill out onto the running track. I sit at the end of the row and stand to let others by to fill the seats, and luckily the soldier seated in front of me is pretty short, and I can get a decent view of the action. Are we going to be tested? Will we have to perform in front of the other soldiers, to show our skills? My stomach plunges as I grip the edges of my metal chair. My aim has gotten a lot better, so I'm not the worst in my group anymore, but I'm still far down there, and physically I am still the weakest in the my barrack. Will they make me go work at Service? For all of the work they went through to rescue me from the Arena, I don't think they'd stick me in with the dishwashers. Still, what was my purpose again? Didn't they just take me so I could see Dad again?

Cail and three other square-patch instructors stand on the stage, hands clasped neatly in front of their bodies, still as statues, model soldiers. I find myself continually glancing up from my own hands to the stage, as if waiting for them to roll out the targets. A voice behind me, probably two rows back, whispers in an urgent tone, and I strain to hear.

"Who'll it be in your group? Or a few…"

"They'll take Grayson, I'm sure of it, he didn't make squad last Grad and we were all amazed. Maybe Shad, too."

"It'll be that real tall guy in mine – you see him over there? Never got his name. Real solemn type."

"Doesn't interfere with his shooting, though, eh?"

"Li will probably make it, too."

"Who, Little Miss? I heard she's not in the running anymore."

"Nah, you haven't seen her train."

 _"_ _Attention._ " A sharp voice echoes throughout the gym and jumpsuits rustle as the soldiers reposition themselves to face the speaker, one of the other barrack's instructors, a severe-looking man with a hooked nose and dark eyes. "We have gathered today to celebrate the graduation of select soldiers in these barracks who deserve to be higher in rank based on their skills, both mental and physical. Here we respect a man or woman with the determination and gifts to rise in rank, and we hope that you will take these successful soldiers as an example to your behavior and training, to strive for better, to work for more than just rank, but for the achievement of the rebel cause. The following soldiers have been chosen by all four instructors to be elevated to a squad." While some of the soldiers zoned out during the short speech, everyone is on the edge of their seats now, a few combing back their hair nervously, or tapping their feet.

"Shad Hampton – Infantry." Shad, the man the soldiers were talking about. A broad-shouldered man with long tied-back hair walks up to the stage and accepts a squad patch from Cail, them smiles at the crowd. Quite a few people whoop and cheer above the applause, and I suspect that Shad was popular amongst his barrack-mates. _That makes one of us…_

"Aaron Manning – Scouting." A second man stands next to Shad, deeply tanned so that when he smiles his teeth look startlingly white. Lots of soldiers cheer for him, too.

"Li Wilson – Scouting." The soldiers behind me begin to whisper again, and I swivel in my seat to see a tall, strong-looking girl stand and walk to the stage with confidence, her face calm and her stride graceful. A few guys wolf-whistle when she accepts her new badge from Cail, but she seems oblivious to their taunts.

"Grayson Winters – Artillery." My thoughts of what an artillery guild could be are interrupted by the whispering soldiers.

"See? Told ya."

"Still didn't think they'd take Little Miss. Doesn't look as dainty as they say."

"Nah, she could snap a Nindroid in two with just a glare."

"Oh, sure…"

"Jace Bender – Infantry." A dark-haired guy rises next, who can't be more than nineteen years old, and I feel a flicker of hope burn in my chest.

"I would like to ask all soldiers to rise and salute the troops of our future." Everyone stands abruptly and snaps into a salute, then they break rigid form and clap loudly as the new recruits walk out the door, cupping their hands around their patches with reverence in their eyes, along with a fierce pride.

"That's _it?"_ Someone hisses to my left, and a few others laugh.

"You graduate, you have to be good – really good – or get a promotion for other reasons. Back to the grind for us all."

"Are you kidding? I'll be here 'till I'm too old to shoot a gun without graduating!"

"Why do you think there's Infantry squads, mate? Anyways, if the rumors are true, looks like the Grads won't be the only ones seeing some fighting."

"Whad'ya mean?"

"War's coming, kid. Nasty one against Borg."

"Bull. That's all talk."

My row starts filing out of the training room and back into the barracks, and a schedule change has taken place: training has only been delayed. Groans fill the room as the message is relayed and the other soldiers start to pull on their boots again, muttering about their hopes getting up. I feel a smile tug at my lips as I lie down on my bunk for a moment, feeling my muscles slowly unknotting. My fellow soldiers are human, after all.

"C'mon, lazy Singles, off yer rears!" Cail shouts from the door, and I jog over in line and follow the soldiers through daily exercises. Running has slowly gotten easier, and I'm never the last one anymore, just barely scraping by in front of a few not-so-in-shape soldiers in the barracks. The monkey bars and ropes are my bane, and I've been fervently trying to increase my upper body strength, but gravity seems to be all too friendly with me when I start to climb. Other conditioning exercises are similarly arduous. I cling to my increased shooting ability as one of my stronger skills, and am excited to see that there are guns out on a table today in the middle of the gym, where the equipment has been moved aside and replaced with barriers, parts of walls, stacked gasoline cans, and other ordinary objects like boxes.

"Ever played dodgeball at home, back with your Borg-lovin' sissy half-brains? Let me explain, for the half of your brain still there, got that? We'll divide into two groups, and when I shoot, you run to the middle and grab guns, ammo, armor, whatever you can. These are paintball guns, better called _painball_ guns, because they hurt like hell when shot – you'll be shoutin' too loud to pretend you weren't hit. If you are hit, you're out, Borg's got ya, and it was a waste of our time trainin' you – this is a real-life scenario you may encounter very soon, and those bullets won't be washable. I'll read off the teams and we'll begin."

My team is probably the stronger one, because we have some pretty good sharpshooters, and the guys don't seem devastated to have me on their team, actually remarking that I can be an asset, which is mind-blowing. Garret, one of the sharpshooters, has risen to be the leader of our group, and he pulls us in for strategizing.

"Okay… I'll take left and Rayn can take right side. The others, fan out, search for their weak points while avoiding ours. Those of you who are pretty good shots, take over if Rayn or I get hit, so stay close when we attack. If this is like dodgeball we can't cross over the middle, so precise shooting is essential. Also, don't get hit in the first few seconds; once you get your gear zigzag your way back and take cover immediately, then start shooting. Beats me how much ammo these things can hold, so mags are good, too. Ready?"

"Ready!" We all shout, then break from our huddle and line up on the back line of the playing field, and the other team does the same.

"All right, on your mark!" Cail says loudly, holding one of the paintball guns skyward, finger lingering on the trigger.

 _Bang!_

My feet fly as the paintball splatters against the training room ceiling, and I dodge the stacked boxes and sidestep a wall portion then reach the table, snatching two pistols, ammunition, and a large rifle before the first shot sounds and I scramble away, ducking behind stacked propane cylinders and checking for ammo in my guns. Luckily they are already armed and ready for use. Carefully I prop the rifle up in a slot between the propane cans and glance through the gap, searching for someone to aim for…

The propane cylinder rings out loudly as it is struck with a paintball and I reel backwards, startled, then aim again, searching for my assailant. Just as I'm about to give up and retreat back someone hollers in pain and Cail steps in and pulls the soldier from the game, helping him limp to the side, favoring his not-paint-splattered leg. I look through the gap again and see a soldier standing fairly out in the open, take aim, and fire.

My bullet collides with the wall an inch from my target, and he leaps away and turns in a circle quickly, looking for me, then unclips a pistol from a belt I saw on the table and slides behind the wall, only his pistol emerging from the cover. From the right side shots fire rapidly, and Cail pulls two more soldiers to the side, ignoring their twisted faces of pain. A shout echoes from our side and I turn to see Ian leaning against a wall, clutching his arm, red oozing from between his fingers, realistic-looking enough that I feel my stomach churn even though I know it's not blood. Another soldier groans as a paintball slams him in the gut, and Cail has to practically carry him to the side of the arena.

Steeled on, I face the opposing side and fire two shots at a protruding leg behind a pile of old wooden boxes. The first shot is off slightly but the second is true, and a shocked "Hey!" and a stream of curses alerts me that I've done my job. Another soldier is perched behind a small alcove of broken concrete, fully shielded from frontal assaults, but I twist my gun and swivel to face the shooter, who has a rifle like my own. Both paintballs hit his side, and comically, he falls from his perch to the ground, stunned and breathless.

However, my success has brought me notice, and a paintball volley from the opposing team, and I'm forced to vacate my position and retreat back to where Garret is concealed, holding a rifle, too.

"How many kills you got?" He asks amicably when I approach, smiling.

"Uh… Two." I say, then grin when I realize what I've admitted. _I've gotten two kills! No way!_

"Nice!" Garret says, and I can see him looking at me with a new expression when he turns my way again. "Look, Rayn lost a few guys back on right side, can you help out?"

"Sure." I reply, then jog over to the right side, diving behind walls and unstable pyramids of stacked objects, until I see Rayn and two other soldiers firing from behind a wall with bricks taken out. I step to the side and situate myself behind a broken door propped up by boards, then stick my gun though the large keyhole and search for any revealed soldiers, but none are visible from my perspective. More and more people are pulled away from the game, including Garret, whose chest blooms with crimson, and the other team steadily gains the advantage. Soon it's only me and another soldier I don't know against five of the other team's soldiers. I've been cowering behind a wall with my teammate for the last few minutes, and the opposing team has caught on and begun shouting taunts at us.

"Aw, c'mon, accept defeat!"

"Nindroids ain't gonna be so kind – I'll get you in the foot, 'kay?"

"Naw, get 'em in the heads."

My teammate takes a shaky breath, then turns to me. "What should we do?" He mouths, and I silently assess the situation. Judging by their voices I'd guess they're pretty close together, gathered at the front lines, ready to shoot us when we emerge.

"Listen," I whisper, bending low. "Crouch down low and crawl forward on your knees towards them, and toss him a chestplate-like paintball protection vest, which he straps on. "I'll be behind you, with my guns on your shoulders. We'll have a few seconds before they hit a part of you that isn't guarded, and you'll be shooting too, so I think we can throw them." My teammate shakes his head, grinning.

"You're an idiot, but a smart one. Let's get these Borg-lovers."

He squats and I hunch behind his legs, readying my pistols above his shoulders, resting slightly, and I hand him my rifle and we prepare to emerge.

"Ready?" I ask, and he nods.

"Go!" I shout and we awkwardly shuffle forward, paintball guns blazing, shooting at the relaxed soldiers still standing in wait for us. Before they can even raise their guns I've shot three of them, and by the time my partner's cry of pain alerts me of a hit the two other soldiers are disposed of, their shots much higher than my head, probably because they were expecting a taller target. Moaning and limping, the defeated team makes its way to the sidelines while my team shouts in victory, pumping their fists and cheering. When we meet up again most of the soldiers are congratulating my teammate – I hear them call him Isaiah – but the satisfaction of winning fills me with more pride than any commending would give.

Maybe I'm not so lost after all. Maybe – just maybe – I can help the rebels somehow.

 **So, for the news I finally have, here ya go. On my profile you'll see a poll that has votes for Team Remnants vs Team TTC (My two Zelda fics) but I have options there for all of my other stories! Seeing as you're certainly my most dedicated readers, why don't you mosey on down their and vote?**

 **(I don't think the phrase 'mosey on down' has been used in years. Wow. You get the idea, though.)**

 **And if you're kind enough to vote, why don't you review as well? It would mean _so_ much to me if you do, especially since I've been working on this story for more than a year now, and every review for it makes my day! Thank you!**

 **Well, news is news, even poll news.**

 **Tell you what - let's to a throwback. Remember random facts?**

 **1\. My favorite Frank Sinatra song is The Lady is a Tramp. (If you didn't know I am a HUGE Frank Sinatra fan.)**

 **2\. My favorite Harry Potter book is the Half-Blood Prince.**

 **3\. My favorite movie is Casablanca.**

 **Random facts about me, I guess! Well, that was fun. All I remember from the old random facts was that I said the Pokemon Ekans spelled backwards was snake, and then someone followed the story. Coincidence? I think not!**

 **For the first time in (probably years) we have a long author's note! It's been a while.**

 **I think that's all for now! Until next time! (And don't forget to vote for Team False Prophets!)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Welcome back, fellow False Prophets lovers. It's update day (and also Friday) so celebrate!**

 **Ready to dive in? Let's do this. Read on!**

Chapter Eleven – Kai

Whispers fly around the barracks when I awake, and I lean on one elbow to listen to the passing soldiers as they walk to the bathrooms.

"Hacked the wall port… Graduation…"

"Who do you think'll make it?"

"How long?"

Graduation? I shake my head to clear it, ignoring the fading but still painful twinges all down my body, then stand and dress for training. My bunkmate comes next to me as I walk out for breakfast, and to my surprise, sits down with me at a table and starts talking.

"Did you hear? The ports' schedules got hacked and there's going to be a Graduation in four days!"

"A what?"

He looks at me like I've sprouted wings. "You don't know what a Graduation is? Oh, man! They're totally random, and they choose the most elite soldiers to be elevated to squad!" I take a sharp breath at that. _I could make squad._ It's really become no doubt that I'm the best soldier in the barracks now, since Rhys and his gang have retreated their attacks, maybe even the best in the floor, and escaping Rhys could be a matter of life and death itself. Each time I see his eyes the burning, roiling hatred in his pupils perturbs me even more. More alarming is the withdrawal of his gang and their little tortures, and I know that they're planning even more, more meticulously, a plan that will terminate my standing in their way as rank. Even though I don't really have to anymore I watch my back, watch my step, and avoid any excess encounters. Rhys meant what he said that night on the catwalk, and I haven't readily forgotten.

"Four days?"

"Yup. All of the soldiers are trying real hard to improve their rank. They pulled the ranks up on the port, too, but they froze them now, and only a single guy got to see them for a second before the screen blacked out, the port shut down. Weird, huh? And he can't remember the names, either, so don't ask. But anyways, we're all trying to get higher on that list."

"Nice. Who do you think will Graduate?"

"I dunno. There's the other soldiers in the barracks, too, so it's hard to say." I realize that my asking puts him in the hard position of saying I'll make it and not him, so I focus on my toast and barely flavored eggs instead.

When I look up again he's gone. Not surprising, really. Any friend of mine is an enemy of Rhys' – or I assume would be, and if my bunkmate wants to make rank he shouldn't be associating with me. For a second I feel a flicker of warmth towards him, for being the first person to talk to me as an equal, or maybe a friend. But he left… Maybe our conversation was a strategic one, or planned. Did he want tips on how to do better? Did he want me to hack the port and find the ranks?

Has this gone so far that I question the most transparent of situations? Ugh.

It's obvious in training that everyone is trying to outdo each other, and I catch Ream smiling as he watches us work. Lots of soldiers sprint the first few laps in running and wear themselves out, barely managing to drag their feet over the finish line as they heave their breaths, sweat pouring down their faces like faucets. Same goes for any other exercises we do: the bars become a race, where most of the soldiers land with their feet in the air as opposed to the platform; the shooting exercises are quick-draw cowboy shootouts, resulting in one soldier shooting through his boot and clipping the end of his toe with a bullet; and the ropes training has soldiers barely managing to pull themselves up another inch after they're tired out from swinging full-upper-body-strength for the first ten or twenty feet. Only a few people in my barracks keep clear heads while the others make fools of themselves, knowing that trying too hard will actually lower their rank. My trading expertise warrants their sudden frenzy a combination of nerves, pride, and overconfidence, a combination I've often seen when a slightly better-than-average trader challenges me, and I know full well how to deal with them. The soldiers are no different.

After a delightful failure of a practice Ream puts us through a particularly horrible conditioning exercise that has my half-healed wounds screaming in pain, and the exhausted soldiers can barely keep up. When time is up and it's time for lunch my instructor glares at the worn soldiers, then dismisses us reluctantly. I hurry to the cafeteria and eat as quickly as I can, then rush to the lobby and look around for anyone I know, glancing over the crowd of people in an instant. During free time I like to guess the guilds of certain people based on what data I have of the selection process, and I'm refining the code each time until it's near perfect. The news blares in the background as I size up the rebels, but I tune it out.

"Estimated ninety-percent of the citizens have joined the patchless rebellion and are fighting back against Borg, backlash is staggering…"

 _She looks like Service based on her hands, look like they've been worked hard recently, but that could mean anything…_

"Supply trucks containing weapons, Nindroids, and rations have gone missing mysteriously…"

 _And he's obviously Army. The way his hands linger by his belt, for holsters or sheaths._

"President Borg remains adamant on reclaiming the Complex, but to no avail…"

 _What? Magic guild doesn't count. Guess I've found one of Ming's groupies._

"We begin to question the wisdom of our leader as rebellion reaches critical stages in the fall or rescue of the Complex."

I tire of my game and go back to the barracks, fiddling with my locker knot and watching the other soldiers until training starts again. I would go practice, but today more than ever I think I should avoid it, for fear that I'm pegged as one of the other crazy-try-hards. Speaking of them, when we begin to practice again I see many of the soldiers who went crazy in the morning looking distinctly green, and I wonder if they were able to retain their lunches. In fact, many soldiers ask to be excused and hobble to the bathrooms during training, clutching their stomachs, and one doesn't even make it that far, spilling his guts on the running track. Ream seem unfazed by this and simply excuses the sick soldiers to go to Service for medical attention. The other few who manage to contain their innards complete the exercises at a painfully slow rate, and Ream's usually even-tempered face is slightly red when we finish – partly from yelling at the soldiers almost constantly, and partly from exasperation.

Dinner is very welcome to those who haven't been straining themselves, and a new but deadly enemy to those who have, and I watch in silence as soldiers from every barrack stand suddenly mid-meal and rush to the bathrooms, on don't even eat the food on their plates, avoiding looking at or smelling the stuff on their plate. My bunkmate doesn't come and talk again at dinner, and while I expected him not to I find myself a little disappointed.

A few of the men in our barracks are missing when we return from dinner, including Rhys and his friends, and I fell myself release a breath I didn't know I was holding. _Calm down. You can take them, anyways._ When the lights snap off moans echo around the barracks, and I pull my blankets over my head in an attempt to shield against the noise until one of the soldiers shouts for everyone to stop pitying themselves and if they didn't stop so help him, which quiets them down.

Morning practice is even more amusing than yesterday's, and the laps take a full thirty minutes to complete before everyone crosses the finish line. Ream's expression is blank but I can sense his frustration radiating off of him in waves, but he keeps his appearance together as we swing across the bars, when only four of us manage to stay on, and climb up the ropes, when only two of us manage to stay on, until he storms over to the wall port, labels every one of the worn-out soldiers as absent, and excuses them. I suspect they would cheer if it didn't take so much effort, and the soldiers straggle back to the barracks and disappear through the doors. Ream turns to the handful of us who are still physically capable of training and we have a small scrimmage with the mortar guns, limiting the range and setting up small targets, then aiming for and shooting them. The angles and projection are easy for me, and my group wins quickly.

Being absent to training must lower the soldiers' standings – the invisible standings no one knows – but that's the least of my concern as Ream dismisses us with a short wave after the last mortar target is blasted, and I go back into the barracks where my group lies, passed out on their beds. Although it's frowned upon, I peek into the other barracks on our floor and see a similar scene in every one of them. When I turn around from one I nearly run into another soldier with sandy-blond hair and a cocky smile.

"Crazy, huh? I guess they did the same thing with yours, too." His posture is relaxed and I loosen up too, smiling easily.

"Yep."

A cloud passes over the soldier's face, then it clears and he points at me in recognition. "You're the tribute kid that was in the Games. Didn't know Thrace brought 'em back."

"Much too valuable to leave behind." I say, sidestepping the soldier and starting for my barracks. A hand grabs my arm, firm as iron, and spins me around. Instantly I'm tense, every muscle ready, and I release my hands from fists.

"Watch yourself around here, son. There'll be people none too pleased about a squirt like you outranking them, and they can take action, if you know what I mean."

Physically fit, strong and lean, quick – he would be a difficult opponent if it came to fighting, but I can see the gaps in his façade so wide they're like knife wounds.

"Sure. It must be terrible to have been stuck here for what, five years? Six?" The moment the words leave my mouth I regret them, and the fear and anger that shadow the soldier's face make me feel even worse. He departs without comment and I turn back to my barracks, with shame burning in my chest.

I don't want to hurt people, why can't they just leave me alone? Rhys and his gang, this soldier, the tributes in the Games. If they had just ignored me they would be fine. And now look what I have done to them. One thing's for sure – I'm becoming Thrace's soldier. But I don't want to, if this is the price.

The idiot soldiers recover somewhat on the last day before the Graduation, and we all train together for the first time since the rumors spread. Ream is harsher than usual during training, and I find myself winded more often than not, and still a few soldiers can't handle the training and rush off again, followed by the taunts of the others, who try to overlook their similar situation only days before by belittling their barrack-mates. Much of our day is occupied with shooting, including a particularly difficult drill when we were suspended by our boots from a lowered portion of the rafters and had to shoot targets. The disorientation startled many of my group, because the bullet is no longer falling straight from the barrel like they knew it had, but I find the new target practice an interesting challenge and enjoy it, feeling a stab of reluctance when Ream tells us to get down. Then we shoot normally again, and most of my group's bullets don't even hit the target.

Pieces of paper flash around the cafeteria during dinner, and I catch a glimpse of one and see that it is a list of those who will most likely graduate. I'm not really sure what to expect tomorrow: will I graduate, or will Thrace keep me behind to continue with my training? If I'm honest with myself I'd say that Army training has become redundant, boring, and I'd like some more strenuous and difficult than what Ream can offer. Also, I'd like to escape Rhys for good. I'd like to escape my fear. _It makes you vulnerable. Don't give in to it. Especially here – you have to be impenetrable._ But that only reminds me of the soldier I met and I quickly lose my appetite.

Lying on my back, I listen as whispers penetrate the dark once the lights have shut off, hearing bits of conversation.

"That guy from a different barrack, the one on the climbing wall the other day…"

"Man, I am _beat._ "

"Who's your number one?"

"I put him way down on the list, because _come on._ Really?"

A small light shines in the room and I see the wall port glowing, a soldier partially blocking the screen, and he lets out a quiet whoop.

"Graduation! Right here, doggoneit!" It must be midnight, when the schedules change. Turning over on my side, I ignore the rustling whispers from the soldiers and close my eyes. Whatever happens tomorrow, I am ready.

 **I know we took a walk down memory lane last chapter with the random facts, but not today, because really, random facts? Oh well.**

 **To those of you who have been reviewing, _thank you!_ It means so much to me when you do. If you'd like to review feel free; it makes my day! :)**

 **No news that I'm aware of, I guess this might be it. Well, until next time!**


	12. Chapter 12

**I LOVE THIS CHAPTER.**

 **Okay, I know it might just be me, but I really really enjoyed writing this chapter! Hopefully you'll like it too.**

 **(Agh I'm so excited. Read on!)**

Chapter Twelve – Wu

The Auditorium is no longer filled with the thick silence of awaited Reapings, but bursting at the seams with a cacophony of sounds, cheers and singing and applause, feet stomping on the ground. The seats are filled with a crazy mix of people, their sleeves shredded and their faces wild with excitement. Guards stand at the doors, armed with large guns I've seen at base and body armor, but no one wants to escape. Mothers hold their children close, but there is no tension on their face, rather, a freedom, like they've been released from a bondage they never knew – quite literally, in fact.

I stand near the stage with Thrace, Williams, Johnson, Garmadon, and the patchless leader Alexei and his second-in-command, Vic. Both are tall and strong, with creased brows and dignified expressions, and I see them examining their work with pride. Alexei nods slightly at Thrace and they climb up onto the stage, the stage that President Borg stood on only weeks ago when he announced Lloyd's imminent death. It must be a slap in the face now that the two leaders of the rebellion now lead the Complex, in the building Borg constructed. When Alexei and Thrace reach the top step the audience explodes, cheering and shouting and waving their banners and anti-Borg signs with zeal. Alexei smiles and dips his head towards the crowd, but Thrace is unresponsive until he reaches the middle of the stage, when he faces the patchless leader and shakes his hand, resulting in a crashing wave of sound that nearly bursts my eardrums.

"Friends!" Alexei calls, and the crowd quiets down, the energy in the room simmering to electrified anticipation. "Today we welcome the rebel leader Thrace to our humble abode!" Laughter ripples through the Auditorium. "Let us show him what we have accomplished with his support, for which we are most grateful!" Cheers fill the room again, and one area of seating stands, dressed in body armor and carrying weapons.

"Army!" The patchless leader shouts, and the men and women salute the stage.

"Tactical!" Alexei says next, and the next area stands, not quite filling all of the seats. They salute too, and I can see a single pistol and a walkie-talkie strapped to their belts.

"Mechanic's!" This group is very large, spilling over the edges of their area, and they have no weapons. For a moment I wonder where the scientists and inventors work here – the factory? There are so many of them!

"Service!" This group is very large too, taking up two element areas, and they don't salute, just cheer and wave banners. Most of the children and mothers are in this group, and other people who are unable to serve as soldiers or tacticians.

I glance over at Thrace, who is nodding with obvious and sincere approval, the look barely reaching his dark eyes. He steps forward and I can almost feel each eye staring at him, sizing him and his little brigade up.

"Friends!" Thrace echoes Alexei as he addresses the crowd. "Over the last few weeks we have been sending you help and support, and this is how you reward me?" A few nervous chuckles are heard, but the rest of the crowd just looks nervous. Is Thrace disappointed? I mean, it's not like the Complex people could have all of the missiles and things the rebels have had…

"Have you been holding out on me, Alexei?" Thrace asks, and Alexei laughs lightly.

"Unfortunately I have, comrade. Should we show them what we have amassed?" He asks the crowd, and they roar their approval.

"It is settled, then." The patchless leader says, then claps his hands. A faint thumping sound is heard, then the doors burst open and Nindroids storm in. My hand is instantly on my gun holster, but there is something different about these Nindroids – their metal posture is slightly more relaxed, and their eyes glow blue instead of a menacing red.

"Introducing our first Nindroid squadron!" Alexei calls, and the Nindroids raise their helmets and reveal human faces underneath. A few remain firmly intact, though, and I think that they are real Nindroids, just altered for our cause.

"We would bring in our new tanks, submersibles, and other mobile weapons, but they wouldn't fit." Alexei laughs again, and I can see pride sparkling in his eyes as he survey the Nindroid squad.

"Very well done," Thrace says, and Garmadon leans over to me.

"He means it. Have you seen some of the inventions and weapons these guys have made? Especially the biological ones – only problem, Borg won't have very many human allies."

"Thank you very much." Alexei says, bowing his head. "So where do we proceed from here?"

"If you have been previously notified please come out to the road and go to your designated hovercraft, where you will join us back at the rebel base for additional training. We have brought some of our own soldiers to help you train here and defend against any attackers and help complete some of your defense projects or install machinery." Alexei's eyes glint at this, and I wonder what kind of machinery he means. "We'd like to thank you for uniting with us. There is strength in numbers, and with our combined skills I believe we can successfully storm Borg Tower and reclaim our freedom!"

The frenzied mood of the crowd erupts with this, and Williams taps my arm and I follow him out of the Auditorium and out to the hovers, where the pilots stand with checklists in hand. I am assigned with Pike, one of the pilots from the Arena bombing, and he checks people off of his list as they come and take their seats inside the hovercrafts. Most look nervous, glancing around at their friends or family or at the interior of the hover in wonder, but I see a few looks of mistrust on others faces. I can understand their worry, having been in their position only weeks ago. Garmadon stands next to Louis at a different hovercraft, and I watch as he shakes the hands of the patchless who come aboard, and their surprised expressions almost make me laugh.

The ride back to the rebel base is smooth, and I get to talk to a few of the people on board, and they share their stories of the frenzied period after the Games.

"Lots of people just left…" A woman names Sylvia begins, looking down at her hands. "They never came back, and we can really only assume the worse. Things went crazy downhill – Nindroids started pouring in, and they made all of these ridiculous rules, friends were being taken away and beaten half to death each day, and the rebellion was rising each hour. They were terrifying at first, burning and pillaging and fighting back, and they had guns," Her hands begin to shake and she takes a deep breath, "There were shots everywhere, and no one left their apartments for ages…"

"Then it kind of solidified, I guess when your troops came in." The man next to Sylvia says, covering her trembling hands with his own. "Alexei and Vic came to power, and the patchless became organized, began training. The Nindroids stopped coming once we started reprogramming them, and the stragglers were gathered up to join. There are a few bands of Borg-supporters out there, but they rarely attack, and they're hidden deep in the woods, too afraid to show their faces."

I nod as I listen to each survival story – a young boy who stole from the shipments of weapons and was flogged, an older woman who had to use an ancient six-shooter pistol to hold back the Nindroids who invaded her apartment. Every tale is different and more horrible than the first, and I remember with a start: Misako and Skye! They were still at the Complex! Quickly I excuse myself and hurry to the cockpit and take a seat next to Pike, who barely notices me, then flip through his clipboard and search for the names…

I gasp in relief as I see their names under Quill's plane, and although I don't know if they made it to the hovers I can at least know that they've been accounted for recently. Fighting the smile that threatens to show itself, I look out the window and down at the forest, the shifting trees, then realize that the motion is unnatural, and am about to speak to Pike and voice my concern when the first volley of bullets slam into the hull.

Instantly the radio silence is broken as all of the pilots start shouting over their comms, reporting hull damage and punctured plating. Red warning lights start flashing in the cockpit and the hover's cargo bay and voices start echoing from the bay, so I hurry back to a barrage of questions.

"What was that?"

"Sounded like gunfire –"

"You said we were safe!"

"Calm down!" I shout over the din, and everyone quiets and takes their seats again like obedient schoolchildren. "Someone is firing on us –" And as soon as I say so another round of bullets hits the ground and the hovercraft tilts and then rights itself – "And we don't know who! My best guess is that those bands of Borg-supporters are shooting us. The hovers are meant to withstand damage, though, and you are in _no danger."_ Stressing the last few words helps, and I can feel the tension lessen slightly, until more shots bury themselves into the hull and I sidestep back into the cockpit and whisper to Pike.

"Who is it?"

"Like you said, probably those breakoff groups." Pike says through gritted teeth, gripping the controls of the hover with white knuckles.

"Can we hold much longer?"

"They've hit some of our controls but have missed the gas tanks, and those are hidden away exactly for this purpose. The new soldiers are fine too. She'll need some repairs when we get back, though."

The next few shots cause the hover to give an almighty lurch, like a bucking horse, and someone screams from the cargo bay. Pike growls and frantically taps out commands on his control panel, and I hear the voices of the other pilots over the engine noise and the gunfire.

"Nantes here, we have some major damage to our antigravity cells, but we'll make it back to base all right."

"Louis here, I have two direct hits to the onboard processing unit."

When I return to the cargo bay most of the patchless are comforting each other, a few praying. Nervous eyes flicker from both sides of the hover like they might become riddled with bullets at any moment. I help those who are out of their seats strap back in and offer minor medical assistance to anyone injured when the hovercraft bucked, then buckle myself in and wait, flinching each time a bullet finds its mark.

Eventually we fly out of range and the attacks stop, but everyone's nerves are frazzled when we finally touch down in the hangar and line up next to the elevator to meet in the lobby and get assignments. There is minimal rush to the elevator when it comes, but I can sense the patchless' urgency as they flood out of the doors and into the lobby, standing on tiptoes to find family members, shouting out names or running through the crowd, searching for a familiar face. Many are crying, from joy or sorrow I can't tell, but I know that I too am looking for people, and need to start to search.

I find Garmadon ushering the patchless out of his plane with Louis behind him, who is supporting a middle-aged man as he limps to the lobby, his usually smiling face rigidly set in concentration. Once the last person is out of the hover Garmadon runs to me, eyes wide.

"Was Misako in your hovercraft?" He asks, his voice laced with panic.

"No, no she wasn't…" I begin, but Garmadon is already sprinting for the lobby, and I follow him, sliding to a halt when I reach the sea of people and wince at the deafening noise.

" _Misako!"_ Garmadon bellows, and I grab his sleeve.

"She can't hear you!" I shout back, but he shakes his head and desperately continues.

 _"_ _Misako! Skye!"_

Quill taps me on the shoulder and I whip around to face him, anxiety beginning to simmer within me.

"We need help getting some of the wounded to Service!" He says, and I nod and follow him to an area near the lift from the hangar where the injured patchless lie on the ground, already being tended to by many Service doctors. I'm about to help one of them up when I see a single figure lying prone on the ground and a smaller figure beside it, and my heart stops.

I barrel past anyone in my way and kneel next to Skye and Misako, who raises her head when she sees me and smiles weakly, lines of pain etched in her face.

"Wu…" she whispers, and her tone is so faint I can barely hear it. My once-frozen heart now seems to be going a million miles a minute, and I face Skye.

"What happened?" I bark, and her small face grows tighter with worry.

"The hover was flying and then the things hit it hard, and the next time Mommy was standing and got knocked against the wall…"

"I just sprained my wrist, I'm fine." Misako insists, but I hardly believe her.

 _"_ _Garmadon!"_ I roar, and by some miracle he hears me from wherever he is and dashes over to Misako and Skye, sliding down onto his knees and grabbing Misako tightly in a hug. Only when she cries out softly does he release her, then examines her face, his own expression hardening when he sees her pain. I recognize the anger in his eyes, the hate, and gently place a hand on his arm, trying to still his rage, but he bats it away.

"What happened? Who did this to you?" He demands, and Misako flinches at his tone, raising her good hand and taking his.

"It was a stupid accident, really – I had just gotten out of my seat to help Skye when the hovercraft was hit by the bullets –"

"Who was your pilot?" Garmadon asks, this time to Skye, whose face has gone completely white, and her lips part but no sound comes out.

 _"_ _Who was your pilot?"_ He insists, and Misako cowers back from him.

"I-it was Quill, but it was an _accident,_ Garmadon, it wasn't his fault!"

Garmadon stands, his shoulders high and his hands drawn into tight fists, and his face is a mask of wrath under a veneer of calm. He starts to walk towards Quill, who is helping an older man onto a stretcher, and when I reach out to him again he raises a hand and shoves me backwards forcefully, and I stumble against the wall. Misako cries out again and half-rises, then her face turns as bloodless as Skye's and she lies down again.

"Garmadon, _please,_ I'm fine! Stop, come back!" I get to my feet again and rush after my brother but he has already reached Quill, and I can see his hands shaking with rage.

"Garmadon…" Quill begins, then sees his face and takes a half-step back. "Um, is everything okay?"

"Don't you _ever_ hurt my wife again!" Garmadon shouts, his right fist crashing into Quill's jaw with the force of a truck, and the pilot flies backwards and crumples onto the ground. Garmadon simply steps over the bodies of the people in his way and follows Quill, who is scrambling backwards away from Garmadon, one hand at his face.

" _If you hurt her again, I swear I will_ kill _you!"_ He screams, and sends another fist into Quill, whose body lurches as he is thrown to the side again. This time he gets up and puts his hands up in defense, confusion and pain and anger in his stance.

"What the _hell,_ man?" Garmadon does not stop, though, plowing past a Service man who stands in his way, and I charge after my brother before he can get another hit it.

"Garmadon!" I shout, and he turns to look at me over his shoulder, his eyes burning. "Stop now! You know it was not Quill's fault that Misako was injured! You're scaring Skye!" My brother's eyes flick back to Misako and Skye, who have mirrored looks of terror on their faces. Then he looks at Quill again, and the rage takes over. Quill's face fills with panic and he starts walking backwards, hands up again in a placating gesture, but it is clear Garmadon will not be consoled. I sigh inwardly and reach up and press into his neck with my fingers, and he crumples to the ground, unconscious.

Quill lets out a shaking breath when I pull Garmadon aside. "Damn. I'm sorry about his wife, there was really nothing I could do, our stabilizers were busted and it was all I could do to keep her up, honest!" I can tell that he is rattled and shake my head.

"It's not your fault Quill, believe me. I expect you'll get a full apology when he comes to."

Quill nods, but his eyes are still fearful, and when I turn away I expect to hear a wisecrack following me, but there is only silence.

The walk back to Misako and Skye takes an eternity, but I relish every second; I can never see that kind of fear in anyone ever again.

 **How'd you like it? It would mean a lot to me if you reviewed, but no pressure. I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Per the norm, no real news. This might be it! (As I have learned, apparently author's notes are supposed to be short. Who cares?)**

 **I guess that's all... Well, until next time!**


	13. Chapter 13

**Hello my lovelies and welcome back to False Prophets! As intros go, there really isn't one for this chapter. I guess we'll just transition into the catchphrase...**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Thirteen – Ming

I've never been in the woods around the Complex, and now I know why.

Everything in the forest seems to be fighting to cause us the most misery possible, reminding me of the Hunger Games, but even more extreme. Roots crisscross the ground like a checkerboard, conveniently appearing and tripping you whenever it is least needed; vines whip out from nowhere and smack you across the face; and the insects are the worst, buzzing around your ears and biting your hands and neck despite any attempt to slap them away. Within an hour I'm doused in sweat, uncomfortable, and sore, and so are the soldiers in my guild, but no one has complained yet, so I force myself to not call out for a rest, to keep going, even though every step aches. First mission is not off to a good start.

When the first-ever mission appeared on the wall port this morning I was pretty excited, all through briefing and getting fitted with weapons and bulletproof clothing and other safeguards, and my guild was too. The mission was – is – a pretty important one, too. Defeat the Borg-stationed or Borg-obeying soldiers who tried to gun down the hovers yesterday. The mass-migration of the Complex people was yesterday and caused a huge stir in the lobby, but everything was worked out before this morning, and the Complex reported no signs of being attacked by any Borg-obeying forces. Our job is to clear them out of the woods.

Bide holds his heat sensor ahead of him, searching for anyone nearby, although we're still about a half-mile from where the anti-aircraft assault ended, but I see no red on the screen and relax slightly. Everyone is armed with rifles and pistols strapped at our sides, and I can feel the cool metal against my back and thighs, my fingers tracing the trigger lightly. I had a heat sensor too, but gave it to Leon. In case we're attacked I don't need another instrument in my way.

"Heads up. One to our left, alone." Bide whispers, and I whip my pistol out of its holster silently and grip it tightly in my left hand. While I'm more accurate with my right, I prefer my dominant hand for spellcasting. Murmuring , I softly, I quiet the footsteps of my soldiers until there's barely the faintest of rustling when we move, and also cast a quick camouflage spell over the group. I can summon a full-body camo that will cloak a single person efficiently, but this wider-spread cloak will disguise us when we're not moving. I peek through Leon's heat sensor and see the man, a swath of red approaching fast, and my breath quickens.

We enter a tiny clearing, easily disguised by the overhanging trees, and in the middle sits a squat tripod-shaped gun with bullets spilling out of the sides, surrounded by sandbags smeared with green and brown pigment. A single soldier sits at the gunner's seat, twisted so his legs hang over the side of the chair, humming lazily and swatting at mosquitoes. Leon spins in a slow circle to see if there is anyone else nearby and I see no more red, so I approach Bide.

"What now?"

Bide replies by raising his rifle and shooting the man through the head, and my stomach lurches as his neck snaps to the side and he crumples onto the sandbags. He then withdraws a small electrical device from a pouch on his belt and tosses it at the gun, and the device must be magnetic because it flies to the tripod's legs and sticks there with a metallic clang.

"Down!" Bide instructs, and I remember bomb situations from the basic training Bide led us through when the guild was first founded. We retreat a few paces and crouch with our hands over our heads, and Bide presses the trigger on a remote from the same pouch. Hastily I mutter the same silencing spell and the anti-aircraft gun explodes in a ball of fire that makes no more noise than a whisper. Bide glances over at me and nods, perhaps thanking me for my quick thinking, but I keep thinking about the dead man at the gun and the compliment gives me no pride.

We follow the same routine for five or six more guns – shooting the guard, silently blowing up the guns, and each soldier is none the wiser than the first. By the seventh gun I see more and more improvement in the guns' defenses, like more soldiers per gun and concrete barriers rather than sandbags. Whatever is in the explosives turns the barriers to dust, though, and Bide doesn't seem concerned as we continue our trek through the woods even further. By the tenth anti-aircraft station there are three guns, three soldiers to each gun, and each gun is contained in a small bunker. We dispatch of the station as easily as the others, but the soldiers seem to be worried, and I'm with them. Why is defense suddenly much higher than usual?

The last station is the fifteenth, and there are six guns and eighteen soldiers. Bide divides us into groups of two and has twelve of us storm into a bunker and kill the three guards, then set a bomb and return. Incredibly, no one from my guild is injured in the attack, and Bide looks proud as he triggers all six bombs, then instructs us to turn and return to base. The miles of walking is wearing on me, and I have to force myself not to slump over under the weight of my armor and weaponry, none of which I even used. A few soldiers start a rousing ballad of ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, which fades quickly in the sixties when Bide gives them all a killer glare, and the rest of our walk home is quiet, punctuated by the sounds of boots hitting rocks and tree roots. Only when the first crack of gunfire splits the sky do I think anything of the lack of noise.

Asa cries out and stumbles forward, falling to his knees, then shouts again when a second bullet shatters a rock next to his hand. Every soldier turns and opens fire on the guerilla in the trees, and he quickly falls to the ground with bullet holes stitched across his chest and abdomen. A few shots ring out from a nearby tree, and I return fire with a well-placed pistol shot, and the second guerilla falls like the first.

"I have five!" Leon says, peering through his heat sensor, and as soon as he says so bullets tear through the trees and the soldiers jump for cover. Asa was hit in the shoulder, but the heavy boy armor has done its job, and he is uninjured. I whisper a spell and bright flashes of light shine from the trees, hovering over the guerillas, and I hear return fire from my soldiers, and bodies thumping to the ground. Carefully, I angle my shooting arm and leap out from behind the trees, but the work is already done.

"Clear!" Bide shouts, and we regroup. Leon keeps checking through his heat sensor to see if we are being pursued, and we leave in haste, doubling our pace to return to the base. I find myself turning my head to see if there is anyone behind us, and once Will is glancing over his shoulder and jogs straight into a tree.

The rebel base is a welcome sight, and Bide offers to give the mission report to Command for us while we get cleaned up, which I heartily agree to, and he compliments us on our work today before leaving. There is no more training for the rest of the day, but most of the soldiers meet in the gym to practice and I run a few simulations for them before retiring to my room. The TV no longer plays Complex news, since the Complex has been taken – they made a big deal out of that over the intercom – but instead plays reruns of the Hunger Games, and I drop in when the camera is watching Zane light a fire. Although it certainly didn't seem like that in the Games, watching someone start a fire on TV is kind of boring, and I can't change the channel, so I go to the cafeteria and grab something to eat for dinner. I see a few soldiers from my guild but don't join them to eat, instead sitting at my own table and dining quietly for a few minutes before Wu, one of the guys from Command who is with Thrace a lot, taps me on the shoulder.

"Care to join me?" He asks, and I collect my tray and set it for pickup, then follow him out the door to the elevators.

"Where to?" I ask, and Wu doesn't respond, just presses a button for a higher floor and we speed upward together. When the doors open it appears to be a normal office floor, until we walk to the back of the floor and approach a carved wooden door, probably the most ornamental thing I've seen at the rebel base yet, and Wu stops.

"Where is this?" I ask, looking for a label on the door and see it hidden in the furls of a wooden fern – library.

"This is where we keep the most treasured documents in the known world." Wu says, and I laugh a little, but his face is deadpan.

"A little melodramatic, don't you think?"

Wu simply shrugs, then pushes the doors open and gestures for me to follow him inside.

My breath is stolen away as I see the swooping bookshelves reach high above my head, barely illuminated by small lightbulbs and seeming to sway back and forth with a nonexistent breeze. Books pile up below the shelves and are scattered across the library floor, with torn pages and crumpled bits of paper sticking from the pages and scuttling across the ground. The shelves stretch in both directions and suddenly I'm dwarfed by the sheer immensity of the place. Wu taps me on the arm and leads me to the right, and I have to watch my step to avoid kicking over stacks of books. Just for fun I pick one up and start grazing a few pages, the biggest book I can find, and see from its faded cover that it is a history textbook. My fascination explodes as I rifle through the pages, devouring the words voraciously, and I almost smack into Wu's back when he stops before a small gated-off area and turns to me.

"This section I think you'll want to see."

I just nod, confused, and cautiously step over to where Wu stands and watch as he inserts a key into the gate's padlock and twists the door open. The rusty hinges creak agonizingly loudly in the silence of the library, but I ignore it and walk through the door, suddenly wary.

This corner of the library is even darker than the first, but Wu seems to have no trouble finding his way in and showing me to a set of smaller bookshelves, maybe half as tall as the first.

"Here we are." He says, as if expecting me to applaud or something, and I look at the shelves he stands before with scrutiny.

"It's… A bookshelf." I reply dryly, crossing my arms.

Wu shakes his head, a but-wait-there's-more-moment, and takes a single book from its place and hands it to me. Instantly I feel a jolt of energy like an electric shock issue from the pages and almost drop the book, then carefully open the cover and read the first page.

 _A Tome of the Study of Magical Arts_

My whole body turns numb as I rifle through the pages, through illustrations and incantations and suspicious-looking stains, then look at Wu.

"Are those…" I point at the shelves with a trembling finger.

"All yours." He says.

I set the book down like it's the most expensive item on earth and take another book from the shelves. This one is listed as "Intermediate Guide to Spellcasting," and I study the table of contents with earnest, then take another book and scan what it has to offer. Wu watches while I do so patiently, standing back and looking around at the shelves casually.

"There's no way I could learn all of this." I whisper, lifting "An Expert's Manual of Curses." All of the information is too vast, too difficult, there's no way I would be able to master it.

"And that is why we have someone here to teach you."

My jaw drops and so does "And Expert's Manual of Curses." _Someone is going to teach me how to use my powers. Not possible._

"But… But I thought there wasn't anyone here who had the gift." I say, searching Wu's face, seeing if he is lying.

"Not then, we didn't. We caught him trying to sneak through the woods and escape. Guess he caught on about the sinking of his ship."

"Who?" I force the excitement out of my voice to avoid embarrassing myself, but it still comes out squeaky.

"This year's Head Gamemaker Clouse."

All of my excitement vanishes in half of a second, replaced by fiery rage. The man who put me in the Arena, who designed the technology to _kill_ me, is going to teach me magic.

"No." Plain and simple.

"Unfortunately, it's not that easy. You see, Clouse was already informed that he would be instructing you, and we need the skills you will learn from him."

"No. How do you know he's not going to kill me or something while we work? And I still have to train with the guild, too…"

"Ming, do not lie to yourself. You are going to train with Clouse."

As much as I hate to admit it, Wu is right. The prospect of increasing my powers is unfathomable, and Thrace would want me to train so I can be more effective. Still, the repulsive image of Clouse twists in my head and I dig my nails into my palms, trying to force it out. He is a murderer, he killed people! How can I work with him?

But Wu is right. I will. I have to.

Shoulders slumping in defeat, I look up at Wu. "Fine. When do we begin?"

Gesturing to the door, his face betrays a small flicker of emotion, a smile. "Now."

 **Ooh plot twists, magic and Clouse, oh my! Ming doesn't seem to excited about it, though.**

 **Hey, it would mean a lot to me if you would review and tell me your thoughts! Even if you don't, thanks for reading. *hugs***

 **That might be all for today. Until next time, then!**


	14. Chapter 14

**Just a warning: this chapter is going to be pretty intense. Someone's new squad leader is a real charmer.**

 **Well, hello, my wonderful reader! Welcome back, as always. Ready to get into the story?**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Fourteen – Kai

My sleeve seems impossibly heavier with the new patch sewn on, and I'm almost starting to wish it wasn't there it all.

Jumpsuits and toothbrush in tow, I walk to my new barracks, on a different floor than my Army one, and I get a few more distinct looks from passersby as I take the lift down further, especially from an older Command man who stares at me until I step off and the doors close. I wasn't really surprised when I was called to graduate, but it seems like everyone else in the rebel base is, and they take no care to disguise it. I take a deep breath as I walk across the training gym and walk to the barracks. A few other soldiers watch me as I stroll over to the doors, and I start to size them up – they have higher skill levels than the Army soldiers, and their inclinations to certain squads is very, very precise. The code is suddenly even more enigmatic and I puzzle over it until I arrive at my barracks listed on my assignment sheet, the second I've ever had: Sniper Squad, Barracks Two.

The barrack is slightly cleaner than my previous one, and the soldiers' uniforms look fresh, which is more than could be said about the Army soldiers. I glance around, looking for the squad leader, and mutters fill the barrack as the soldiers examine me, sneers creeping up their lips. My eyes narrow as they snicker and point, and the paper in my hand crumples somewhat and I force myself to calm down. One man stands almost lazily and saunters slowly over to me in a showy way, brushing back his hair, which is tied back in a tail. He has sharp features and a strong physique, but his eyes are the cruelest I have ever seen, cold and black as midnight and hungry, eager. When he cocks his lips in a half-smile the other soldiers smile too, and I feel like a caged animal about to be devoured. But there is something else behind his expression, and the expressions of the soldiers, too – _fear._ And lots of it.

"Are you the new kid?" He asks, voice dripping with a patronizing tone, and I raise my head and reply.

"Kai Burns, sir. Graduated from Army to Sniper Squad, Barracks Two."

"Good, good, this one can string words together, innit great?" The squad leader replies, and the other soldiers laugh loudly. I tighten my fists but otherwise don't react. "Name's Tash, short stack. Welcome." He extends a hand, and I shake it, taking note of the icy look in his eyes.

Tash doesn't release my hand, though, and he swings his other fist around and punches me in the side so hard all breath leaves my lungs, then slams me against the wall and lands another blow in my stomach. Gasping for air, I look down at him as he holds me suspended, smiling wickedly.

"You see us here? Sniper Squad, Barracks Two? We're not doin' too bad here, kid. In fact, I'd say we're almost the best sniper squad there is. Everyone is here because they earned it. Everyone but _you._ " He says the last word like it's poison, then drops his hand and I fall to my knees.

"Yeah, I know who you are – Borg's golden boy, Hunger Games champion. Just because some rotting old man up in Command likes ya doesn't mean you can barge in here like you own the place. Nah." A hand grabs my collar and I'm an inch from his face, staring into those murderous eyes.

"I don't want to jeopardize my rank because some idiot kid comes in and ruins it, so you listen here! If we drop in rank, if so much as a hair is out of place in here, I swear I will make your life a living _hell._ You get that, genius? Where's Thrace to save you now?" The rest of the soldiers begin jeering too, and Tash throws me backwards, and I stand quickly, despite the screaming pain in my ribs.

"I will not be a detriment to your squad." I say, but Tash shakes his head and lashes out with a punch so fast I can barely follow it, and I stumble to the side, the left side of my head smarting.

"Didn't say you could speak, did I?" He asks, then pouts. "Aw, is the little guy gonna go back home to Mama Borg? Go on, go! They'll treat ya real nice there!" Tash mimes crying and the squad follows, shouting and jeering. Blood rushes in my head and I let out a low growl, then watch until Tash is turned slightly back to the squad before launching myself forward and digging my fist into his jaw with all of the power I can muster. Tash stumbles and the soldiers freeze, turning pale, then let out a breath when Tash spits to the side and faces me again. Now his eyes are burning with black fire and rage, and the same seed of fear Rhys instilled in me spreads, but I shove it away.

"Bunk is back there, kid. Settle in. We have a heck of a practice in a few minutes." Tash simply replies, then settles down easily on his bunk, and the barracks return to normal.

I walk to my bunk carefully, almost expecting Tash to attack me again, but make it safely to my bed and open my locker, set my stuff inside, then thread the knot over the lock, tying it extra tight. I lie back on the mattress for a second, running the aptitude test code over in my head to pass the time, and them someone speaks.

"Hey."

I turn my head sideways and see a guy leaning back on the bunk next to mine, about my age, with a brilliantly purple black eye and a cocky smile.

"Name's Malcom Hirsch, but you can just call me Mal. See you've got the Tash treatment, huh? Same here." He points at his black eye and laughs. "Betcha everyone here has. Tash loves scaring all of the guys into following him. See 'em?" He gestures around the room and snorts. "Bunch of suckers."

"But not you?" I ask, reclining against the wall.

"Naw, not me. He tries, though. Surprised you hit him back. Practice is gonna be hell for you, mate."

I shrug, then look out over the barracks again, realizing Mal is right. All of the other soldiers are watching Tash fearfully and submissively hidden behind their proud features and cocky attitudes.

"Everyone here saw the Games – gotten any requests for autographs yet?"

I laugh, wincing as it sends a stab of pain into my side. "Nope. Think Tash'll want one?"

Mal rolls his eyes. "Oh, sure, he'd adore that. Seriously, watch out for this guy. He meant what he said, making your life hell."

"Yeah. I noticed."

Evening practice begins shortly after, and I line up in front of Mal and follow the soldiers into the gym, where the shooting targets are set up, just like back in Army. Tash starts us off with three and a half miles of running, which isn't too hard, and when I finish he looks at me blankly and tells me to run six laps more. I'm pretty winded at the end of the sixth lap, and Tash looks satisfied, then orders us to the bars. I start jogging to follow the other soldiers, but he grabs my arm tightly and smiles.

"Not you, kid. You get descending ladder."

I glance over at the other soldiers, and Mal gives me a half-shrug, a pitying expression on his face, and my insides harden. Fine. Despite having just run I jog over to the descending ladder, which I have never done before, and examine it.

The structure looks like a cross between descending stairs and monkey bars, with a ladder leading up to the highest point and a bar to grab at the corner of each step. I ascend the ladder fairly quickly, which reaches up quite high in the air, then grab the first rung of the bars and hold it, feet not leaving the small platform.

"Hey! No messing around, get going!" Tash shouts, and I set my jaw and release my legs, dangling for a moment before reaching out to the next rung. This step is just like the normal bars, but the next rung is beneath me and I have to reach down to grab it, then release my other arm and hold on. Then I reach down again, fumble for the next bar, drop my body down, and grab the bar again.

In only seconds my arms are burning with strain and sweat is dripping down my face. Each time I put the strain on one of my arms my shoulder feels like it's tearing away from my body, and there's only a moment of relief before I have to stretch it again. White spots flash before my vision and my grip starts to slack, but I bite my lip hard and reach for the next bar, my fingers sliding off of the cool metal and I'm hanging by my left arm. A coppery taste fills my mouth and I realize I've drawn blood. Sweat stings my eyes and I blink rapidly, then stretch out for the rung, somehow manage to clench it tightly, and lower my body to the rung. Pain radiates over my upper body in waves, and slowly my muscles unclench and I'm falling from the bars – a second of sweet bliss before I slam into the not-so-protective padding under the bars. Groaning, I wipe perspiration from my brow and eyes and rub my sore arm muscles.

"Again!" Tash shouts, and I stare at him in disbelief. I can't do that again. I can't. Hoots of laughter echo throughout the gym and I stagger to my feet, then walk to the ladder and climb up again, each time I pull myself up another step sending fire through my arms. When I reach the platform I touch the rung halfheartedly, then reach forward for the next bar and begin to lower myself down again.

The second time is worse than the first, each time I move my arms sending a stab of pain like a gunshot into my biceps, and I fall much sooner this time, crashing onto the safety pad with a thud of finality.

"Again!" Tash calls relentlessly, and I pull myself from the ground and stumble over to the ladder and climb again. Now my leg muscles are burning too, and a haze of pain descends over the exercise. Each time I let go of a bar knives dig into the muscles of my arms, probing the flesh and slicing without hesitation until I grab onto the next bar and hang for a moment, catching my breath, stilling the attacks against my body. Fall, climb, hang, repeat. My vision is tinged red, my breaths ragged, and my whole body is doused in sweat. I don't need to hear Tash to know that he is calling for me to try again, to force me into the descending ladder torture chamber again. Time falls into the void of agony and continuous pain, until finally when I land of the mat I know that I have reached my physical limit. I can't go on. I can't face that torture again.

"Up!" Tash says, but I barely hear him through the ringing in my ears, and I simply lie on the mat, unmoving. Approaching footsteps echo towards me and I know that Tash has arrived. "Get up!" I make no motion to even show that I have heard him, and he kicks me sharply in the ribs, but I hardly notice the pain through the veil that radiates over my entire body. The next connection stings sharply and I roll onto my side, groaning.

"You asked for it, kid." He says, and a hum of electricity buzzes nearby. The part of me that is still sensible panics, but my body refuses to move. There is a jab against my side and pure electricity jolts through my body, first feeling like melting lava is being poured over my body, then dulling to a faraway ache. My eyelids flutter and I beg for unconsciousness, but Tash shouts something and raises me to my feet, then shoves me back. I stumble and try to find footing but then collapse to the ground. Tash pulls me up again and knees me in the stomach; I fold and hit the mat again, racked with the waves of pain crashing over my body, and then hear some voices from the other soldiers.

"Tash, look…"

"He's spent, man. Wasted."

Tash ignores them and sends a shock of electricity through me again, but the pain is fading fast and I can feel myself falling into darkness. My squad leader senses it too, and I'm upright again, hunched over and swaying slightly, barely able to balance on two feet.

"You'll join us for climbing now. Come on!" Tash barks, and I take a halting step forward, feeling lightheaded from the pain, and someone grabs my arm.

"Come on. This way." _Mal._

My eyes are fixed on the ground as I force myself to take steps, the pain ebbing and flowing like tides as it burns through my body. Mal stops once we reach the climbing wall and I look up at the faux mountain face, the handholds scattered across the surface.

"Let's see how our newbie fares on this." Tash smirks, and through my pain I feel a rush of hatred wash over me – hatred for this evil man and what he is putting me through for no reason. _Why does he hate me so much? What have I done?_ The mutters begin again and the soldiers look at me, at Tash, at each other.

"He can't do that."

"What is he thinking…?"

I gaze dully into Tash's midnight-black eyes, see the twisted pleasure in them, and my hands form fists.

"No." I croak.

"What was that?" Tash pushes his ear forward and smiles.

 _"_ _NO!"_ I shout, the single word tearing through the gym, tearing through Tash and his stupid followers, and I feel my nails bite into my skin, barely a brush of wind compared to the charred muscles in my body now.

"Hmm, not an option." Tash picks at his nails, then looks up to me. "Try again?"

"I said, no." I reply, feeling suddenly woozy.

"Are we gonna have to do this the hard way?" Tash says, exaggerating a frown.

"Guess so." I say, raising my fists, even though the simple action sends blackness to the edge of my vision.

"Are you serious?" Tash laughs, swiping at my head. He must have hit me, because someone catches me and helps me back up. I simply raise my fists again, ready for the next blow. "You must be really stupid, aren't you?" The next punch hits my chest, and I fall back again, this time hitting the ground hard. No one helps me to my feet this time, and Tash bends over me. The last thing I see before his boot strikes my face is his grim smile.

 **Like I said, Tash is a real charmer, right? Well, get used to him, because he'll be sticking around for quite some time. Until... (It's kind of a gift and a curse when you've written so far ahead. AAAAAH)**

 **As for news, there really isn't any. We forgo-ed (forwent?) news a long time ago. If you wanted to know, forwent is a real word. The more you know, right?**

 **Anyways, see you around! Until next time!**


	15. Chapter 15

**Oh, these sassy young officers of Command... Wait, sorry, I forgot the introduction. Welcome back to FP! (False Prophets. I'll go search urbandictionary to make sure this acronym is appropriate. I think we're okay.)**

 **I don't think there's much else to say up here, so read on!**

Chapter Fifteen – Wu

"Whose fool decision was it to put him with _that_ squad leader?" An angry voice barks from the lower table. "He won't be able to recover!"

"Sir, if I may…" Neena begins, standing. "It is highly unlikely that the Fire boy will be able to physically recuperate from the daily attacks given by his superior." The faces of the delegates are all the same: barely concealed rage at the injustice delivered by the Fire boy's squad leader.

"He excels in his Army group and we reward him with this?" Scourge's face darkens.

"I understand you have a plan, Thrace, and we were in a similar situation like this in the Games, but this is unreasonable!" Williams cries, and the discontented murmurs of the table fall silent. Williams accusing Thrace? Unbelievable.

"I understand your concern."

"Concern? We don't want this kid to die, you call that concern? And you're not concerned?"

"No."

"What? How?"

"I believe that the Fire boy will be able to overcome the attacks from his squad leader and grow stronger because of them."

"Oh, great. I was worried there for a second – let me just keep on _believing_ that everything will be okay!" A young officer snaps, and Thrace raises his eyebrows, probably surprised at the backlash from the delegates.

"This is abuse, sir!" Garmadon says, his tone even. "We cannot continue to allow this. How can you even prove that the Fire boy will be able to 'overcome the attacks'?"

"Statistics…" Eli mutters, and Garmadon turns to him.

"What?"

"Statistics." Eli says louder, but lowers his head. "Statistically, he will be able to recover. We have figured out that much."

"This is beyond statistics!" The young officer stands, pounding his fist on the table. "How can we _morally_ allow this to happen? How can you all sleep at night knowing that this is happening right under your noses?" The delegates shift uncomfortably, looking at their hands.

"You wish to speak of morals?" Liam begins. "How could you sleep at night knowing that thousands upon thousands of people could have been saved if you could endure this one stage of phase two? If we pull him out now the entire system will crumple. What is a few weeks, a few months compared to generations?"

"What you are doing is not right!" The officer retaliates, and Thrace holds up his hand.

"Thank you for your opinion, but we need to proceed."

"Proceed." He seethes, glaring at Thrace. "You don't give a damn about what happens to your soldiers so long as you win the war. The ends justify the means, huh? This boy is being wounded – and not all of those wounds will heal, either. This is a time in his life he can never forget. How will he be able to injure or kill others when he is so opposed to it now?"

"Who says he is opposed to it?" Liam argues. "He fought back both times."

"Afterwards." Huffing angrily, the officer continues. "After all of this is over."

"Afterwards is the future, which we cannot control."

The officer takes a breath, his face red, then pushes in his chair, says, "Excuse me," and exits the room. Everyone watches him go, and my insides feel at war with each other. Both sides have points, but who wouldn't choose the saving-the-world option? Garmadon casts me a glance and I shrug, dismissing the problem. We have some world-saving to do now.

"How go the training sessions with Clouse?" Liam asks cheerfully, trying to clear the tension that blankets the room, to no avail. One of the Tactical representatives stands and addresses the delegates in a trembling tone that gains courage as she continues.

"Well, I-I'm not exactly an expert, seeing as I'm not magical and all, but – I believe that the lessons are improving her abilities, although the Darkness girl does not approve of Clouse, as can be expected."

"What kind of results?" An elderly man asks, twiddling with his pen.

"Well, her abilities have gotten stronger, and she now knows some other…"

"Magic tricks?"

"Er, yes."

"Excellent!" Liam claps his hands together and smiles, and I wonder why he is acting so strangely. Is he hoping to earn Thrace's favor by agreeing with his choices? He is already Command, what more could he want?

"The Ice and Lightning boys are, as usual, amazing." The Mechanic's woman simpers.

"And the All-Element boy is certainly improving." Watson remarks, glancing at his notes.

"The Earth boy is similarly doing well." Looking more composed, the Tactical woman manages a small smile. "His strategizing is especially strong as opposed to his peers. In fact, I believe he could control small squadrons of Infantry with admirable skill by now. However, I see that we have bigger plans for him."

"Indeed." Williams remarks.

"So now what?" Eli asks tentatively, still looking down. "The tributes are training and d-doing well," He stumbles a bit, obviously recognizing the obvious exception, "So do we just let them be for a while? What happens next?"

"I intend for them all to advance before our next sub-stage in the plan." Thrace says, leaning forward to address us.

"The Ice and Lightning boys could easily lead a squad! I think they may be a bit hindered from their lack of resources and time. And as I say so look at all of the inventions they have created already!" The Mechanic's woman blurts out, and I wonder really how good the tribute boys are to receive such high praise.

"Same with the Earth boy, but I believe holding him back for a bit will be even more beneficial. He still has many things to learn that he could in a squad, but perhaps lessons learned early would be better."

"Wisely said." Thrace nods.

"The All-Element boy could _possibly_ make squad by next graduation, but it could fall either way. He hasn't had the training like the others have." Watson remarks, still looking at his clipboard.

Many delegates look at Garmadon and I like they always do when Lloyd is mentioned; I have long since learned to ignore it.

"Of course, the Darkness girl cannot graduate, but we can still hone her skills furthermore."

"Excellent." Liam interjects quickly, palms flat on the table. "If that is settled, how goes our contribution to the patchless?"

"Since the anti-aircraft guns were disabled travel has become safe once again." Garmadon says, looking up and down the table. "The use of guilds has been applied and appears to be successful. Estimated time of optimal strength in two to three weeks."

"Excellent."

"No trouble with any of the citizens who ran away? No more guns? Borg hasn't made a move to reclaim the Complex?"

Eli scoffs. "How can he? He doesn't have the support of the citizens, and with them the money and workforce to retaliate."

"He's probably working on heightening his defenses, if I had to say. I mean, that's what I would do. He has the people at Borg Tower and the Nindroids – the functional ones, anyways – but that won't be enough, and he was formidable already. We should probably update the sim board to accommodate this."

"Noted." Thrace says. "If that is all then you are dismissed."

Usually after meetings the delegates talk about what was discussed, but now the nervous whispers are almost deafening compared to other times.

"What did you think of that?" Garmadon mutters as we head back to the lobby.

"I think it's about time that someone brought to light that the soldiers are actual people. They're all so self-centered, they don't care what happens to us so long as we win the war." Eli says savagely, then storms off of the elevator and blends into the lobby crowd. Garmadon raises his eyebrows at Eli's retreating back but does not comment.

"Leave him." Scourge rumbles.

"I will." I tear my eyes away from the mingling crowd where Eli stood and focus instead on my boots. "He said war." I murmur, and Scourge and Garmadon glance at me.

"Yes?"

"Well, I guess I never really thought of it like that. This is war."

"Funny, I thought it was just a misunderstanding. Of course it's war." Garmadon jokes, but his face is as serious as Thrace's was.

"Well, _yes,"_ I say, exasperated, "But it's never been said before. War."

Garmadon shrugs. "Doesn't change the fact. Well, who are we observing today?"

Garmadon and I have been watching the tributes as they train for the last few days, which has been very enlightening, to say the least. Before I can reply Scourge speaks.

"Not the Fire boy, right? Guessed not. Excuse me." He too hurries into the crowd and disappears.

"He's right… From what I heard, that would not be a pleasant experience."

"And not just for us, too." I whisper, but Garmadon hears me.

"How can we pick a side? If we're soft we toss in the towel to Borg…"

"And if we're not we hurt someone we swore to protect." I finish.

"And that whole deal – one life versus millions. Oh, hell, what does it matter?" Throwing his hands in the air, Garmadon lets out a long sigh.

"Apparently something, if all of the delegates are making a fuss about it."

"Forget it, okay?"

"All right. I will. And I think I'll go back to the barracks."

I walk to a different elevator and key in my floor, joining a small Service boy and an equally petite Mechanic's woman up and exit soundlessly. In my room the wall port alerts me that I have a message, and I scroll the text quickly before dashing off to the lifts again.

 _Please come to my office as soon as this message is received._

 _Thrace_

What could Thrace possibly want to discuss with me? Lloyd's training, perhaps, but Garmadon would have been included too, and I am the only recipient of the summons. Suddenly charged with nervous energy, I pace the length of the elevator until I reach the Command floor, navigate my way through the sea of carpet, and knock briskly on Thrace's closed door, hands behind back, waiting. When the door finally swings open Thrace's face in stony and impassive. He gestures me in with a wave of his hand and I take my seat quickly, studying his expression, or lack of one.

"I have brought you here to ask you a question, Wu. I have asked this question to many that I trust, and they have all given me their individual council, and some quite fervently. But I wish to know what you think of the matter."

"Yes, sir." I say, mouth suddenly dry.

"Do you think that what I am doing is wrong?"

"Sir?"

Thrace does not repeat himself, and he doesn't have to. I consider for a moment my opinion, then begin to speak.

"The reason that there is so much backlash is that there is so much confusion, sir. We are naturally and morally attuned to want to stop the injustice being delivered by Tash, but the consequences are vast. I am led to believe that if incorrectly treated this simple act could lead to the fall of the rebel action – is that so?"

"Quite so."

"Yes. So, if we take the Fire boy from the training of his squad leader and position him somewhere else, it could possibly have extremely adverse consequent repercussions in the future. However, some are inclined to think that these repercussions are tolerable, or would be tolerable, because we would lift the abuse delivered by the squad leader."

"Correct."

I stand and start to pace again, back and forth in front of Thrace's desk. "Is it true that Borg would kill all of the rebels if we are discovered?"

"I do not believe so. He would have too small of a group of people to rule over, his empire would fail. Surely there would be some of us to join his ranks if such an event were to occur, simply for self-preservation or otherwise."

"Well, many of the dedicated rebels would choose to die rather than be enslaved again."

"Certainly."

"Many justify their aims by saying that the life of one is small compared to the lives of all in the rebel base, sir."

"Yes, that is the main argument that has been proposed to me."

"Sir, how much do we really need these tributes? I know that they are our only hope, but _how?_ Only the Darkness girl really has extraordinary gifts, and I know that they are all geniuses in their own right, but we have geniuses. And they're children."

"All will be explained in time."

"Yes, I know – is this another ploy of yours, to keep me ignorant again?" I bristle, and Thrace waves a hand.

"Continue."

Taking a breath, I begin again. "Am I right to say that if the Fire boy is not in Tash's squad that he will be ineffective to whatever cause you have planned for him?"

"He would be, yes."

"So there really is no argument." I say. "The obvious answer would be for-the-good-of-humanity."

"The obvious answer, but not your answer."

"How can I have an answer? There is no argument to fight over. It all ends with saving the world."

"So how can the others squabble over it? Tell me, Wu?"

"Because war doesn't want humans, sir. It wants brains and guts and bodies to lead and fight and serve, but it doesn't want our souls."

"Then how can we pick a right and wrong side to join?"

"Easy to say before we fight, sir."

"But are we not the 'good guys?' The ones who need to win, to end Cyrus Borg's rule?"

"It's not Borg we're fighting, sir. It's ourselves."

 **Oooh, intense. Rifts deepen in the rebel base...**

 **I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did! It would mean a lot to me if you reviewed, it would make my day! Thanks a million.**

 **SO I FINALLY PICKED UP WRITING THIS AGAIN. Admittedly it was only one chapter, but I starting to finish it up. I read through like the entire thing a few nights ago and _agh,_ I'm so excited. Can't wait for future updates!**

 **Anyways, I think that's all for now. Until next time, then!**


	16. Chapter 16

**All right, I had to rewrite about half of this chapter just now, so that's why the update is a little later than Remnants, if you're reading them both. Uggh. AND HEY I WROTE ANOTHER CHAPTER I'M SO PRODUCTIVE RIGHT?**

 **Sorry for the instant caps lock. Read on!**

Chapter Sixteen – Ming

Clouse's dry, disdainful voice penetrates my concentration as I focus on the flickering flame in front of me, battling the wind.

"Find the inner fire inside of you, and bring it out into the torch."

A spark of bitterness snaps inside of me and I feel a burst of further enmity towards the Head Gamemaker, cursing his words. Immediately the fire leaps upwards and smoke spirals towards the high ceiling of the Magic guild's training room, and I let out a cry of elation, but Clouse makes no remark. Having lost my focus, the burning flame retreats back into the smoking embers, and I turn to Clouse, smiling smugly.

"There. Done."

"Obviously." He drags out the word and my fingers twitch into fists. The fire behind me springs higher again and I narrow my eyes at my instructor, trying to find any emotion in his face.

"So what now?"

He simply raises an eyebrow and I feel my nails dig into my palms. Practice with Clouse has been so sporadic and strange I really wouldn't be surprised if he told me to charge Borg Tower single-handedly. One day we'll be working on disabling computer servers and the next I'll be stooping over a boiling cauldron, peering over the water-stained pages of potion books. However, he has seemed to skirt over the actually useful bits of magic I'd like to learn, like how to freeze Nindroids or cause explosions or cause damage to vehicles, important stuff, and I have the smallest notion that he is still slightly in allegiance with Borg, trying to keep me from learning anything that would be detrimental to the president's cause.

What he doesn't teach me, though, I can learn on my own. When I'm not training with my guild I spend hours in the library or in my small dorm perusing stacks of ancient spellbooks or leather-bound journals on the study of magic. The sheer amount of material is staggering, after living for years thinking I was the only magic person or thing out there, and Clouse has proved to be a slight disappointment as a magic-user, so I live for the time alone in my room, finding magic inside me that I had never uncovered before. Usually when I found out a new ability it was just sort on innate – I would will something to happen and it did, and attach a label name to remember it – but now I study the pronunciation of incantations and inflection and how you can either collapse a building or rejuvenate a wilted flower depending on the stress of a certain spell's 'e.'

"Now I want you to stay in the center of the room. I will be over by the wall port, conducting an exercise." I flinch – exercise sounds painful. Once Clouse reaches the port he keys in a few commands and the lights dim to almost complete darkness. I lower myself into a ready stance, running spells over in my head, eyes flicking around the room nervously. I blink and when I open my eyes again I'm in a completely different scene.

Battlefield. That's the only word that can describe it. Piles of mud and deep ruts in the ground snake their way towards Borg Tower, with thick planks of wood forming bridges over which tanks and other war machines roll across, bristling with missiles and plates of armor. Hovercrafts rain fire down on the trenches, filling the air with choking smoke and the sharp smell of gunpowder. Flashes through the smoke cause the ground to shudder and I fight to keep my balance. I'm about to start forward when an all-too-familiar roar echoes through the sounds of battle and I pivot to see a blade monster plodding towards me, head bent and eyes shining with malice.

The sound of the simulation suddenly diminishes and Clouse's takes its place, loud and booming. "Please dispose of any highlighted targets without getting killed." He drones, then the sounds amps up again and I spin, looking for anything highlighted. What does highlighted even _mean?_

I realize soon enough when I see the blade monster again, which is shimmering with a golden aura, and a single tank about a hundred yards to my left, but nothing more. I take care of the blade monster in about two seconds, weaving my words and the wisps of purple mist through the scales of the best and turn and sprint to the tank before it crashes to the ground.

I barely make it five steps before something hits me in the side and I stop in my tracks and see a small hole in my stomach oozing blood. Strangely enough, I don't feel anything, just stand there as the life drips out of me. The simulation freezes and fades, as does the bullet wound, and Clouse is practically on top of me, face glowing with rage.

"You need to be more careful that that!" He spits, and I hastily step back, timid at first, then defiant.

"What, so I'll have to put a protection spell on the entire rebel army? People die in war – but you wouldn't know, huh, 'cause you're just a Borg-loving pampered servant of his majesty, you've never had anything not your way your whole life!"

"But _you_ cannot die in war, Ms. Mako. Actually, I amend my statement: you can die in war, although it is ill-advised."

"Ill-advised, sure, whatever. So that makes me Thrace's little pampered servant then, huh?"

"I see what the Fire boy meant."

"What?" I ask, thrown off guard.

"When you spoke in the Games, despite President Borg's attempts to cancel the feed. He said you could see through, what did he call it? Borg's veil of lies, yes."

I blush, though I'm not entirely sure why I do so, and simply shrug.

"But let's get on with it then. We're running the simulation until you can pass it without dying. Proceed."

By the end of practice I'm soaked in sweat and utterly exhausted, having to destroy every single tank, enemy hover, and monster that came at the simulated rebel forces, and I have guild practice after lunch, so I take a quick shower, shovel down some food, and arrive at the training gym early to prepare the day's lesson.

"Borg won't just be working with his soldiers." I tell my guild as they stand waiting for orders. "In fact, he doesn't have many soldiers to speak of. Instead he makes up for it with technology."

One of the soldiers spits to the side, eyes narrowing. "His inventions give me the creeps. Honestly, who makes a monster like that razor blade thing in the Games?"

The memory of the blade monster causes a flurry of panic in my stomach, but I suppress it and set my jaw.

"Today we'll be going through a few sims. First up we have one of Borg's simple tanks, just like the ones we have here. You surely know how to take out a tank, don't you?"

Based on the awkward glanced downward and the baleful grins from my soldiers, I assume they don't. Frankly I didn't expect them to, but that's what Bide and I are here for.

When I pause Bide takes control of the drill while I activate the sim. "We'll be using standard weaponry for this drill."

An eruption of protests ensues. "Standard weapons? We'll need grenades to burst a hole in that thing!" Asa yells, gesturing to the tank that has already begun to form above my head as the code is stitched together.

Bide frowns and instantly the soldiers quiet, adequately judging his mood. "You will use standard weaponry for this drill." He repeats seriously, and this time the soldiers snap into salutes.

"Sir!" They bark, and the tank drops from its suspended position onto the ground with an ear-shattering _boom._ It comes alive with lights and the barrel swivels to face the main body of soldiers, who scatter and band into teams, shouting to each other. At first the simulated soldier doesn't seem to know who to aim for, then swivels to face Leon's group. One soldier takes a potshot at the muzzle of the tank, but the bullet ricochets off harmlessly.

"You're going to have to do better than that!" Bide yells at them, but I can tell the soldiers are confused. Even I can't figure out a way to get into the tank besides using magic. As I watch Asa's group scrambles up the side of the tank while the other groups draw fire, then try to force their way into the cupola. The hatch stays firmly shut and the tank fires a simulated shell, which wipes out a group of soldiers. They slink over to the sides of the room, looking ashamed.

"We need to get in there!" Hassen announces, and I leap forward, firing a bolt of molten hot flames at the top of the tank. The simulated steel melts like butter, exposing the soldier inside, and he's a sitting duck for the bullets of my guild. When I turn to Bide I expect him to be pleased, but instead he glowers at the soldiers, crossing his arms.

"You looked positively foolish out there!" He tells them, and I find myself cringing. Bide, always level-headed, is now angry at us? The sudden change in mood is jarring and I raise my head. We _will_ do better this time. I'm as much of a soldier as the men beside me.

"Climbing on the tank? Playing cat-and-mouse? You would all have been dead if Ming hadn't stepped in."

All eyes dart to me, but I keep my gaze firmly fixed on Bide. His expression is slowly losing its fury, but I can tell he is still frustrated.

"Admittedly, the climbing the tank and cat-and-mouse weren't necessarily bad plans, but they were poorly conceived. Now when you go into battle you'll know how to take out a tank. Follow my lead."

For the next hour Bide guides the soldiers in a detailed process of how to disable the sim tank. "A tank is strongest when it's on the move. Take away its mobility and you take away its power. You're going to need to disable its treads."

He kneels besides the treads of the tank, showing the intricacy of the structure, then jams the butt of his rifle between the treads. I type in a short command and the tank crawls forward, then a sharp whine pierces the silence and the tread falls off completely. The tank is rendered immobile, and the soldiers give Bide a small round of applause. We practice disabling the treads for a while and eventually become so good at it that we can jam our guns into the right position while the tank is moving at full speed.

"Obstacles can also work to block a tank, like ditches. Obviously you're not going to be digging a pit while a tank is coming at you, but if there have been ditches already established you can bait the tank toward you. You saw how the sim tank went for the largest group of people clustered in one spot? If a tank driver is intelligent, he'll do the same, using his ammunition to take out the largest group possible."

I set the sim up again and watch as it pivots to where the soldiers are grouped, then pause it when Bide speaks again. "Now watch as the tank goes over a barrier."

With another few commands in the wall port the tank raises a few feet higher in the air, then an indent forms in the simulated ground. As the tank starts for the indent, it rumbles into the ditch and sticks fast in the ground, treads rumbling. A curl of steam rises from the tires.

"Another way to disable a tank is to get into the cupola, like you tried to do before, but you have to know how to do it." Bide climbs to the top of the simulated tank and points to the hatch. "The only problem is that you'll have to pry the hatch open."

We practice the hatch method again, then try the gun-wedging method again. By the end of the practice session every soldier can disable or at least hinder a tank with ease. Bide seems more satisfied, although his tone is still gruff when he dismisses the soldiers.

"Good work today, but we still need to polish our skills." He orders as the soldiers are filing out. "We can't afford to flounder like we did this morning. Tomorrow we'll solidify what we learned."

I head back with the soldiers instead of my private barracks and converse casually for a while. Most of the soldiers seem neutral, but a few are angry at Bide's intensity in the training session.

"He's pushing us way too hard. Do you really think that we're going to be attacking a _tank?_ Army will take care of that." Leon grumbles, expression darkening. "He holds us to crazy-high standards."

While I agree with some of what Leon is saying, I know that Bide isn't completely at fault, either. The soldiers need to learn how to hold themselves in battles without me holding their hands and helping them along. Neither is right but neither is wrong.

I excuse myself and head back to my room, pulling out a thick, dusty book from the stacks that practically line my walls, spells running through my head until I finally set it aside and close my eyes, exhausted from the day's work. Even as I fall asleep Leon's words echo in my ears. With the discord in our guild take root, or will we be able to mend again?

 **Okay, news, news... Well, I did write another chapter (finally.) From what I've written so far I have another ten chapters to go, which will average at about 42. Wowwww...**

 **Anyways, other than that I think we have, let me check, no news whatsoever. And hey, if you want me to actively start writing this again, which hopefully you do, would you drop in a review? It motivates me like you wouldn't believe. Thank you! Go team FP!**

 **Until next time, then!**


	17. Chapter 17

**OH GOD THIS CHAPTER I'M NOT EVEN GOING TO HAVE AN AUTHOR'S NOTE JUST READ ON!**

Chapter Seventeen – Lloyd

"You're coming with me. Now."

A hand clamps around my arm and yanks me out of my bunk, dragging me towards the doors of the barracks. Still half-asleep, I stumble after my captor blearily until we reach the lift, when I wrench my arm out of their grip and prepare to defend myself.

"Calm down, Lloyd. I'm only escorting you to a meeting room."

"In the middle of the night?" I grumble, blinking in the bright lighting of the elevator and getting a good look at the other man accompanying me. "Uncle?"

"That's right." Wu says, examining me. "How is training holding up for you?"

"Fine…" I begin, thrown off-guard at the strange question. "Why, what's going on?"

Wu's expression hardens and he looks away, as if he can't face me. "Just something Thrace thought you all might want to see."

"Are the other tributes coming?"

He answers with a simple nod, eyes still averted.

Once we reach our floor Wu grabs my arm again and pulls me down the hall to yet another meeting room. Inside sit all of the other tributes, looking a cross between tired and anxious. Thrace sits at the head of the small table, but he is as alert as ever.

"Sit, sit." Thrace instructs, but his tone lacks any geniality. I take my seat quickly next to the Earth boy, and Wu sits on my other side.

"Tonight Mechanic's reported a breach in our radio waves, a simple Morse code message, instructing us to tune in at 1:34 to a special broadcast."

"Borg?" The Ice boy asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Almost certainly." Thrace takes out a small remote and all of the different channels are projected on the back wall, each occupying a small square. "Now, we could have patched the breach easily, but if Borg has something to say to us we want to hear it."

"And there's no way this could be a Trojan horse mechanism? A way into our technology?" The Ice boy insists.

"None whatsoever. We only have a few minutes to wait."

About four minutes pass before a faint static sound issues from the speakers and my head snaps up. There's a sharp beep and then Borg's smiling face fills every channel. His expression is sickening, a saintlike grin over boiling rage that sparkles in his eyes. Thrace narrows the view to one channel and Borg begins to speak, his voice echoing in the small space.

"Welcome, all, to my special broadcast! Today we'll cover some recent events, some of which I think you'll find _breaking news._ " Borg wiggles his eyebrows and his smile retracts slightly.

"I have to congratulate the rebels on their capturing the Complex. Oh, how perfect the execution! I was raving. Of course, how was I to know how unstable my position was? No, they figured everything out, every last bit. Marvelous! Good show.

"But I have a show of my own, right, boys? Let's switch over and see what the Nindroids have on camera one."

The feed then flips and I see a recognizable sight before me – the long avenue flanked by grandstands where the dragon ride was hosted before the Games. Only now the stands are empty, and floodlights illuminate a small area in the middle of the road, where a few Nindroids stand in a loose circle around a half-dozen or so people with burlap sacks over their heads, kneeling in a line. The Nindroids have their guns out and are eyeing the prisoners with wicked anticipation.

"Have you had the pleasure of acquainting yourself with these lovely people?" Borg asks, and I squint at the feed, trying to see. "Let me introduce them to you."

"First we have the lovely Harriet Palmer, a Gamemaker for this year's Games. Very brilliant, actually, pioneered all kinds of new upgrades for the forcefields, especially the increased propulsion – gifted mind. Said it was… Oh, what were her words? _Impenetrable._ "

The first prisoner begins to tremble, and the audio cuts in from the dragon ride feed.

"No, Cyrus, please, I could have never dreamed of electronegativity as a weapon, really, I can fix the forcefield – or what about my new design? The one I was working on for you, you asked for it specifically, I've worked out all the bugs, ran every conceivable scenario, _please!_ You can't, no one else will be able to do my job, really, right? Cyrus, please, _please!"_

The first Nindroid walks up behind her and sets his gun on the burlap bag. Harriet must be able to feel it, because she begins screaming and sobbing.

"Cyrus, _please,_ I'm begging you, I never _knew_ about that, and the new design is flawless, I promise, oh Cyrus, _please!_ "

"Sorry, Ms. Palmer," Borg says, "But you're fired."

The gunshot rings in my ears as Harriet Palmer slumps to the ground, blood pooling around her head.

"Next we have Zachary Henderson, a janitor in Borg Tower who was found dismantling cameras in the tribute suites."

Unlike Harriet, Zachary Henderson looks completely composed, and when he speaks his voice is calm and clear.

"I thought that the tributes deserved their privacy. Individual observation is not part of the training process that I could find, so they were unnecessary. If I die tonight it will be in confidence that I have done the right thing."

"Kill him." Borg seethes, and the second gunshot sends Zachary Henderson sprawling to the ground.

"Here's someone you might know – a successful and talented stylist named Muse."

Ming leaps to her feet, jaw hanging open, and Wu steps forward and places a staying hand on her shoulder.

"No…" Ming whispers, and her eyes fill with tears, then violent anger. She starts to walk towards the feed, but Wu holds her back.

"It's only a projection, you can't reach him." He mutters, and Ming tries to force herself free.

"Let _go of me!"_ She shouts, and Wu is blown backwards into a wall. I'm pinned to my seat, trembling with horror.

The figure that is Muse raises her disguised head and starts to speak. "If you can hear me, Ming, know that I have never had a tribute with so much promise. Take them down. Incinerate them for me."

 _Bang!_ Ming leans against the wall, shaking uncontrollably, and begins to cry, not like Harriet Palmer, but quietly, turning her face away from us.

"I suppose she's out of season." Borg muses, and the Earth boy clenches his fist.

"That's just sick."

"Next we have perhaps a familiar face for the tributes, someone who worked in the Training Center."

An older man kneels next to Muse's collapsed body – I assume he's old due to his wrinkled hands – and Kai takes a sharp breath.

"No way… Tomahawk Man?"

"Geoffrey Olaffsen instructed the tributes on how to throw tomahawks – not a very useful skill, is it?" Borg roars with mad laughter and I struggle to remember the man from training. Maybe a glimpse of him, but that's all.

"Mister Olaffsen was discovered not only smuggling alcohol into the building for his own pleasure, but smuggling secrets out. I considered killing him with a tomahawk, for irony's sake, but bullets are so much cleaner. Mister Olaffsen was a stain on the Tower's impeccable whiteness – but blood is the best stain remover, I've learned."

The old man's capable hands go slack as the bullet tears through the burlap, through his skull, and he leans forward slowly, then gently settles on the floor.

I am in shock. The grisly truth of what I am seeing has yet to set it, and the images of the dead employees are flooding in without stop.

"Next we have not a stylist or a Gamemaker but a mentor. Mentor has always been a tricky task, and this man pulled it off quite well. He gave good advice, followed any rules loyally. Wish I had eighteen just like him. Unfortunately, it was not his own fault that placed him here, but someone else's. Have anything you want to say, Kent?"

My eyes snap back to Kai, who remains perfectly still, like a statue, his face blank.

"I want Kai to know that this is not his fault, whatever Borg says! You were the best tribute I ever mentored, and if they have you with the rebels, I know where I'd be, too. Sure, I followed Borg, but you showed me I didn't have to. I can think for myself. Thank you for that."

I get the impression that under the sack Kent is beaming.

"Fire!" Borg shouts, and his tone is so unlike President Borg, so unhinged, that I almost don't recognize the voice.

Kent the mentor joins the four other prone bodies lying on the ground, almost peacefully.

"Now…" Borg begins again in a slightly more controlled tone, "We have the pleasure of greeting Gwyneth Lysander, a worker in my very own factory here in Borg Tower, who was found dismantling Nindroids in their last stage of production. She had many conspirators with her, but would not admit their names under torture. Unfortunately, she can have no last words seeing as she no longer has a tongue. Carry on."

Gwyneth Lysander jerks forward when the bullet is fired, then falls on her side, knees curled to her chest.

"And we have our last guest tonight!" Borg announces cheerfully, like a game show host. "A familiar face to a few of you, Finn Cordova, a mentor like dear old Kent."

 _No._

"Finn was shown to be teaching his tribute to think on his own, much like dear old Kent just said. To see beyond what was in front of him, to examine the obvious. He, too, could see beyond my so-called 'veil of lies,' couldn't you, Finn?"

 _No._

Finn sits straighter and starts to talk, and I cling to his words like a lifeline.

"I know I'm going to die here, Lloyd, there's nothing I could say or do that could change that. I just want to let you know how proud I am of you and your progress. You are a fine man and I'm sure you'll make a fine ally to the rebels, wherever they are, and I only regret not being able to teach you more. I said you didn't belong in the Games, Lloyd, remember? That's because you didn't – you were innocent and followed Borg unquestioningly, and look at you now! Yes, you'll make a fine ally. Give 'em hell for me, okay?"

"Fire!" Borg screams, and the explosion of the bullet fills my ears, unfading.

And Finn, the last in the line, crumples to the ground, lifeless.

My rationality is gone, my sanity is gone. Finn is gone. Like a dam bursting every emotion conceivable pours out from me, leaving me empty, and empty shell, because Finn is gone, and _Borg killed him._

Wu grabs me and pulls me away, out of the meeting room, and we ride the lift down, everything leaching out of me like Finn's blood from the bullet hole, and he shows me into a small room and instructs me to stay there, to stay safe, and that he'll be back soon, and the door closes.

After a while the light dims again to black, and I still stand there by the door, endlessly running the scene over and over again in my head, the gunfire still roaring in my ears, and I wonder if it will stay there forever.

 **Wow... A lot changes in one chapter, doesn't it? If you enjoyed and want to know more (which I hope you do!) drop in a review!**

 **I think I actually wrote another chapter for this recently, because I'm the epitome of productivity... Ohhhhhh, I can't wait until you know more. I'm so excited!**

 **Anyways, until next time!**


	18. Chapter 18

**Okay so I'm lazy and I would write something up here but idk literally nothing has happened in regards to this story so far... Read on!**

Chapter Eighteen – Kai

I lie in my bunk staring at the mattress above me, flashes of the execution flickering through my mind, and stay reclined but awake until official wake-up. A tousle-haired Mal looks at me curiously as I rise to get dressed for training, and as I lace my boots he sits next to me and does the same.

"So what was last night about? Jealous ex?" He whispers with a snicker, and I shake my head.

"If only."

"Huh. Who's the girl?"

"It was an execution, not a date."

"Well tie me by my boots to the ceiling if I'm wrong, but you look mighty alive to me, mate."

"It wasn't my execution, airhead. Someone else's."

"Poor, poor souls." Mal stands abruptly. "Were they on our side or not?" He extends a hand and I take it, rising also.

"Yep."

Mal makes a short _tsk_ sound and starts to walk to the doors. "Well, I'm off for some paper-thin pancakes and eggs – care to join?"

"I'll have to check my schedule." I joke, following him out of the barracks.

When we walk to the cafeteria it's buzzing with people shouting over each other, waving papers and grabbing their friends to spread the news.

"Did you hear?" A large, portly soldier bellows in my ear. "Execution last night on TV! Borg's losing his grip, eh? Eh?"

As I walk to the serving line I'm besieged by heckling soldiers all yelling about the same event – the execution.

"Bloke called Zachary was killed, and another called Kent…"

I take a sharp breath and wonder if Mal heard, but in the general din I doubt it.

"I'm assuming the eggs haven't glued your mouth shut – although I can't say the same for myself." Mal announces as we eat, and I look up from my plate to see him watching me strangely again. "Why'd they even make you watch, anyways?"

Which is actually a decent question. "I dunno. Mind asking Thrace for me?"

Mal snorts. "Like hell. That guy creeps me out. He's all – history. Acts like they say Borg did in the wars, but better, y'know? Makes you feel bad for the poor bloke on the other end of his gun."

"Except that 'poor bloke' just murdered seven people in cold blood."

"True that." Mal brandishes his fork at me like a weapon. "Did you know any of 'em?"

"Who, the victims?"

"No, the cafeteria workers."

"Can't say I have."

"You know what I mean."

I take a long time to chew my food as I consider. Mal didn't see the execution, he was asleep, should he know? Would he even continue speaking with me if he knew I endanger him, just like I did Kent?

"Yeah, I did. One of them was my mentor from the Games."

Mal's cheerful expression fades and his fork lowers, pointing at the table now.

"Borg said that I had influenced him, poisoned him. That's why he killed him." My tone is sharp and bitter, but Mal perks up.

"Naw, not this guy. Tell you what – in case I ever get some strange impulse to hurl myself over the catwalk, I'll tell you, then you'll turn yourself in, how 'bout it? For now, though, I think I'm safe."

I smile, rolling my eyes, and we talk aimlessly for the rest of breakfast, leaving any serious topic behind. By the time the meal is over I feel sufficiently refreshed from the events of last night, and Mal and I depart for practice with raised spirits.

Tash is in a black mood when we begin practice. "Today I want us all on the descending ladders, every one of you, except we're going to _ascend_ this time. Start at the bottom and work your way up to the top. Falls merit you another go, got that? First ten with three clean reps get the rest of the morning off – but I expect it'll take you all morning, so I wouldn't worry about it."

"Someone's tetchy today." Mal mutters, and I laugh.

"We're going to be here _all day._ " One soldier groans, and a few others whisper curses at Tash's retreating back as he goes to the wall port. The first soldier has already begun his ascent, and I can see by the sweat already running down his face that today is going to be strenuous.

The first few days with Tash were absolute torture, but since then I've slowly gotten stronger, recovering from his blows and gaining the tools necessary to fight back. For now, though, I've been biding my time, trying to avoid any more punishment from my squad leader, but he seems to find reasons to make me pay for the simplest actions. Your bunk isn't made correctly, Burns, that'll be five descending ladders. Speaking while I do is insubordination, give me a mile, under six minutes or you'll have to give me one under five. You missed the center of the target there, your enemy is only wounded and has now gotten off two good shots at you. Want to know what a bullet feels like, Burns? I endure his abuse quietly, but it's like shrouding a steadily growing flame. Eventually it will burn through.

"And you –" Tash calls out, and I don't even have to turn around to know he's talking about me – "Five reps."

"Or else." I whisper, face turned away so he can't see me speaking.

"Burns!" He yells, and I slowly turn around. "I expect a 'yes, sir' when I finish giving orders."

For the briefest instant I clench my fists, wondering what it would feel like to dig my knuckles in to his nose, to crush the life out of him – and then the fire dies down and the feeling subsides.

"Yes, sir." I mutter, in a barely intelligible murmur.

"What was that?" Tash barks, and that wicked gleam leaps into his eyes. Instantly the last wisp of fire shrinks back.

"Yes, sir!" I yell back, and he nods, satisfied.

There's a thud from the mats and I see a soldier picking himself up, brushing off his jumpsuit, and Tash cackles with laughter.

"Look at these soldiers! No strength, no power, no nothing! Useless! I would be doing a favor to Thrace by putting bullets in all your eyes."

"Take your own advice." Mal grunts, and I laugh again.

"Something funny, Burns?"

Tash must have superhuman hearing, and I turn again to see him glowering down at me.

"Yes, actually." I say dryly.

"And what's that?"

"I was only saying that it might be wise for you to take your own advice." The fire burns brighter and higher as Tash's face turns from white to tomato red to a brilliant shade of eggplant.

"You insolent little Borg-lover…" He hisses, advancing towards me and rolling up his sleeve. "You don't know how good this is going to feel, Burns."

"Probably not."

A flash of motion and brilliant stars twinkle across my vision. Miraculously, I'm still standing, and Tash looks slightly less pleased.

"Carry on!" My squad leader barks at the soldiers watching our exchange, and they hastily continue ascending the bars.

"Someday I'm going to –" Mal makes a violent hand gesture and nods towards Tash.

"You and me both." I say.

After having so much practice on the descending ladder I get my first four reps done on four attempts, which is more than can be said about any of the other soldiers, and while my arm muscles throb horribly a heady sense of satisfaction fills me. An idea sparks in my mind suddenly and I stand before the bars on my fifth rep. Instead of climbing up the bars in the orthodox way, more of a pull-up, I shimmy up the side of the last bar and balance on top of it, then step out on top of the second one, then the third.

"What are you _doing?_ " Mal gapes at me as I continue to walk up the bars, taking long strides to reach from one bar to the next. My boots have a convenient groove just before the heel that work well for gripping the next bar, and the descending ladder really should be called the descending stairs, and I'm walking up them.

Like a vulture finds its prey Tash's head whips around and his face turns deep purple with concealed rage as I walk all the way up the bars and onto the platform, not even breaking a sweat. By the time I've climbed down to the floor again he's waiting for me, both sleeves rolled up this time and a murderous look in his eyes.

Before he speaks I do. "You never said exactly _how_ to ascend the ladder." I interject, and if possible Tash' face flushes deeper still. He seems to be incapable of sound or movement, hands trembling violently and only managing to make spluttering noises. Before he can wring my neck I stride off to the door, calling over my shoulder, "I'm done for the morning, right?"

And as the lift doors close behind me I think I hear someone cheer. Not a bad exit, all in all.

"That was brilliant. Brilliant." An exhausted but still somehow energetic Mal tells me when I come back to the cafeteria for lunch. "Did you hear Jasper cheer at the end – Tash pounded him hard, right in the kisser, he spit out a tooth, but Service'll put him right…"

 _Jasper. I don't even know this man, and he's already being hurt because of me. Maybe Borg is right – maybe I am poisonous._

"Hello? Anyone in there? It's a wonder you survived the Games with that thick skull of yours. You should've seen Tash, though, blundering around and muttering and spitting, he kicked one of the medicine balls and was hobbling around, I think he might've broke his toe. And better yet, I heard some of the older guys saying that you might be the end of Tash's reign. Apparently he's like a mini-Borg himself, going around and terrorizing his soldiers. They reckon you should be their leader instead of him."

"Yeah, Mal, great idea. I'm sure I'd make a great squad leader."

"No, really!" Mal says, eyes widening. "All those ideas of yours, I bet you'd be great! I would have never thought of that walking-on-the-bars trick, never in a million years. Even the way you two glare at each other when he confronts you – it's like a silent battle or something."

"A battle that I'll always lose. He can beat the crap out of me any time he wants."

"Just 'cause you never fight him back!"

"Because I want to live to see tomorrow!"

"Naw. You could beat him in a fight, easy. Maybe not now, but one you've trained up a bit, easy. The other soldiers seem to be admirers."

"Oh, yeah? Of a teenage kid who doesn't even fight back when he could? Who would want that kind of leader?"

"I'm serious, Kai. You could get a following, take back the barracks."

I raise my fork and point it at his head. "Keep all the stupid stuff in your brain, mastermind. I've got to think of more clever ways to fight the power and you're stopping me."

Mal shrugs, still serious. "I'm not joking. You just wait and see."

But I don't want a following. Tash would take out his hatred on them and they'd turn to me and see me who I really am – just a kid who is afraid, although he doesn't like to admit it, who is cursed because of his ideas, and has destruction in his wake.

 ***cue rainstorm* *and dramatic violins* *and Rocky-esque training sequence***

 **That would be something to see - everyone fighting to the Rocky theme song. But anyways, I'm going off on a tangent. As of now, there's not really much news (is there ever?) And hey, reviews would be greatly appreciated, and they motivates me like you wouldn't believe. Thanks as always for the reads, my amazing favorite people, and until next time!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Heyo, my wonderful awesome most favorite readers, and welcome back to FP! Things are beginning to pick up, aren't they? *smiles, raises eyebrow***

 **Read on!**

Chapter Nineteen – Wu

"More reports?" Eli groans as we take our seats at the meeting table.

"More reports."

The last few delegates trickle in as the minutes tick down before the meeting begins, and at exactly five o'clock Thrace steps into the room and takes his seat at the head of the table, looking grave. He doesn't even give a speech before we start, just waves a hand and says "Begin."

A young woman shoots up from her seat and glances around nervously, drumming her fingers on her clipboard. "So far all the tributes show signs of improvement under training!" She announces, her voice soprano-high.

"No thanks to you." Someone mutters darkly, and I am reminded of my meeting with Thrace and keep my eyes trained on the table in front of me.

"We said he would recover! He's perfectly all right now!" The woman protests squeakily.

"I'm not so sure he'd say the same to you, lass." The voice growls back, and Williams scowls down at the delegates.

"Proper respect will be used at this table. The last thing we need is division amongst our ranks."

"Division, eh? Maybe we need division! Maybe you need to see sense! These kids aren't invulnerable, it's only so long until they snap."

"They actually appear to be doing remarkably well under the circumstances…" The shill voice of the standing woman adds, still tapping out a beat on her clipboard.

"Well? _Well?_ You get beat every day by your superior, you think that's well? You stay in a workplace where you have no one of your caliber, no friends, you think that's well?"

"Their psychological evaluations show –"

"You're the one who needs a psych eval, lady."

" _Enough!_ " Williams bellows, and everyone falls silent. He inclines his head towards the woman, who is now trembling. "Continue."

"Um… Well, the Ice and Lightning boys are doing okay…"

"Just okay?" Williams inquires.

"Well, like he said…"

A scoff. "See, I was right. You think just putting them with scientists will make 'em best pals? They need companionship."

"All in due time." Thrace mutters, so quietly I can barely hear him.

"But they're still doing well with their creations."

"Because that's all you care about – the end justifies the means."

Williams takes a slow breath in and out and faces the standing woman with a thin smile on his face. "And the others?"

"The Darkness girl is doing remarkably well. Her skills have multiplied far beyond what we expected, of course, since magic is a branch of science we're still quite clueless about."

"Good, good. When will she be ready for battle?"

"Battle? Ready for battle? You're factory-producing soldiers, how sickening is that? You promise safety and give them pain."

"Everyone has to do their part." Liam speaks up, but even he sounds unsure. Are both of Thrace's most diligent followers having doubts now?

"The All-Element boy has grown in skill almost as quickly as the Darkness girl. In fact, he's a candidate for the next Graduation, which is coming in a few days. Note that this is confidential, of course."

"Of course."

I glance over at Garmadon and see him fighting to conceal a smile.

"And the Fire boy is doing w-well…" The woman stammers and glances at the lower table.

"Yeah, he miraculously recovered from getting the crap beat out of him, huzzah. You going to ask when he's ready for battle now, too?"

"His skills merit promotion, although in time. He still has some to learn."

"If he can survive until he learns 'em."

Liam makes a short shushing noise and a few heads turn his way.

"Oh. Oh, you're going to _shush_ me now? Isn't that the point of having this group in the first place, so we can share opinions? And all you want to hear is your sugar-coated positive rebels-are-infallible reports! This is just like Borg, _just_ like Borg, when you couldn't say nothing 'cause he'd come and get you if you did. And now what are you going to do, eject me from Command? You'll only prove my point! In fact, do it now! Show them what you want, show them who you really are, Thrace, do it! I'm a blasphemer, right? Right?"

"Please escort Mister Davenport from the room, please."

A few soldiers come in and take a young man by the arms and drag him to the door.

"You're making a mistake!" Davenport shouts. "You'll see! Just watch!"

"That's the fifth soldier this week." Garmadon whispers to me, and I nod quietly. Rates of unfaithful delegates are climbing by the minute, and the mood of each meeting has risen to a simmering heat.

"All of the tributes are doing fine." The standing woman proclaims, then takes her seat before anyone else can interject.

"There seems to be something on your mind, sir." Williams asks, casting a magisterial glace over the table as if trying to flaunt his loyalty.

"A small problem has occurred." Thrace begins, and everyone straightens up and hold their pens ready to take notes, following Williams' example.

"It appears that the occupants of the children's home have been taken to Borg Tower."

"Impossible!" Liam cries, looking confused. "The patchless told us everyone was accounted for!"

"And how easy is it to skip over a few children." Someone mutters quietly, sorrowfully.

"So what's he doing with them? Leverage? Testing?"

"Leverage is my best guess." Williams says. "They think everyone has a soft spot for children."

"B-but we do, don't we? We'll save them, right?" Eli asks, peeking up at Thrace.

"The children are not our top priority. They will be liberated in the storming."

"But you don't know what he's doing to them, what if he's torturing them or something?"

"I have already dismissed one delegate today, Eli. Surely you would not like to be the second?"

Shaking his head, Eli looks away.

"There were also others taken to the Tower – the parents of the Lightning boy, the Earth boy's father, and the sister of the Fire boy. Obviously they will be used as leverage to try to trick the tributes into going back to Borg's side."

"Masterful." Williams murmurs. "They'll think Borg is ruthless because of the killing spree and thus their loved ones have no hope… And if we even lose one of them then our plan will collapse."

"Keep a twenty-four hour watch on the tributes. Make sure they're not going anywhere." Thrace commands, and the wall port beeps in response.

"So what do we do? You said we'll just include them in the storming of the Tower?"

"Yes, we'll have to make time for that. Have our men run drills of Tower storming including this rescue until we lose no time saving them. Incorporate the newly collected tribute data." The wall port beeps again and Thrace stands meaningfully.

"This detriment will not bring us down, comrades. Do you believe we can still win this?"

Cheers echo throughout the meeting room, but mine are only halfhearted, and some of the delegates don't even respond, glancing around at each other and avoiding looking at Thrace. And for the first time I realize that it's not Borg who has driven this division into our ranks – it's our own leader's doing.

 **Ok soooOOooOOooo I don't know if any of you guys are writers and write fanficiton/whatever yourself, but if you do you can appreciate the _massive_ amount of time if takes to write just a single chapter, no less 30+ chapters and still going strong. Please don't think I'm just giving you mindless filler, which, besides being pointless, would be as much a waste of _my_ time as yours.**

 **Anyways, it would mean a lot if you reviewed! I've started actively writing this again, and although it's slow going I can see the end in sight... But fear not, FP is back in action! Encouragement would be appreciated as well :)**

 **I think that's all for now (this author's note probably looks like a novel) so until next time!**


	20. Chapter 20

**Hello there and welcome back!**

 **Formalities aside, I actually really enjoy this chapter. Hopefully you will too! Read on!:)**

Chapter Twenty – Ming

"You've read much about elements, haven't you, Ms. Mako?" Clouse asks during our practice, and I stop levitating my tank and it crashes to the ground with a thunderous _bang._

"Sure, what of it?"

"Do you understand the concept?"

I think about that for a second and begin to raise the tank again. "I don't know. All my life I learned about elements like Borg wanted us to – which was about as cryptic as possible. And then in the books they're pretty confusing too. So I guess not then."

"Let me clarify." Clouse offers, opening up a long canister and unrolling a long scroll, on which faintly colored pictures and ancient script are written. I've picked up some basic language skills from translating books, but this is unlike any writing I've seen before.

"Elements are a concept in magic that never fade – perhaps the only concept besides time travel and magic hat tricks." Smiling dryly, Clouse continues. "According to the most dated text we have, this one here, using four 'golden weapons' the world was created, each infused with terrible power. The golden weapons are thought to be a poetic device to explain creation, as they have never been discovered."

"Wait, you said four. Aren't there nine elements?"

"Borg likes to think so, doesn't he – actually, there are five that we know of today, and the possibility of many more that have been undiscovered. However, most magic revolves around the four main elements, and the sorcerer possesses the fifth – the gift of magic itself."

"So what about the other elements?"

"My best guess is that President Borg did not want such large groups of people together in the Complex. Large groups can raise… Complications."

"Fair enough. Carry on."

"The four main elements of magic are fire, lightning, earth, and ice. In order to properly manipulate these elements one must also have the gift of magic, as previously stated. You and I both have these gifts."

"But isn't elemental magic really dangerous? The texts always report disastrous consequences."

"Exactly. Even the most skilled of magicians can only use elemental magic sparsely. If cast improperly it will slowly kill you."

"Right…"

"However, there are a few people who are born with the gifts of the elements, much like those with magic, only much more rare."

"Rare? You're the only sorcerer I've ever met!"

"Have you ever misplaced something you swore you put somewhere just a second ago? Have the lights ever suddenly turned out even though no one was in a room? Have you ever been very angry or scared or happy and something strange happened, something impossible?"

"Well, sure, but…"

"Magic comes in varying levels, Ming. Many have the gift at a very basic level, so that it barely interferes with their lives, if at all, and they remain ignorant of it their entire lives."

"Whoa."

"Indeed, but that is beside the point. Individuals with elemental gifts have an affinity to their element –"

"That's what Borg, said, too."

"Elements are much more than President Borg made them to be." Clouse snaps. "If someone with elemental powers can harness their gift than they can control it and even summon into being the element of their gift."

"And there are people who can do this?"

"Not for very many years. Borg attempted to suppress those who showed the gift at young ages until they were all but extinct."

"So if we tried to summon those certain elements it would slowly kill us? What about when you made me do the thing with the flames…?"

"Not necessarily. If you were to make a firestorm rain molten rock on your enemies, then perhaps. Small exercises like the ones I've practiced with you contribute to no adverse reactions. If done repeatedly for years and often every day, only then would you be able to feel the effects."

"So we're in no danger."

"None."

"Why did Borg make more elements for the Complex – besides to stop rebellion? And you said there might be more elements, like what? I've read all of these books about theories and things, do you think it's possible? Do the people in Darkness have magic powers too? And why are you even bringing this up?"

Clouse glares at me sternly. "You have many questions, Ms. Mako. I am not a book of answers to spit out clean three-line responses to your inquiries. However, Thrace thinks it key that you become aware of elemental magic and its properties…"

"Thrace wants me to know?"

"Obviously."

"Okay, fine. Continue."

"First – I believe that there was some type of vetting for elements, but I can offer nothing other than my personal opinion on this matter. Second – yes, there have been many books about the discovery of other elements, but as they have no mythical weapons nor ancient texts to their names we can only assume them to be speculation, the creations of fantasy. Third – magic is not exclusive to Darkness only, I am sure that there are weak sorcerers in all elements. Magic is not choosy, it does not hold one over the other."

"What kinds of other elements? There's got to be something!"

"Why are you so eager to know?"

"I – I don't know, I guess…" I mutter, and Clouse nods swiftly.

"You said something about the people who had elemental powers."

"Yes?"

"You said that they were all but extinct."

"Your point?" Clouse looks bored, picking at the sleeve of his jumpsuit.

"So there are more? There are people out there who have elemental powers?"

Clouse pauses for a moment and lets out a short breath through his nostrils. "Potentially."

"Does Borg have them, is he going to use them for the war? Do we know who they are? Are they safe?"

Clouse now looks severely exasperated. "I can give you no more information on this subject except that they are in good hands."

"But –"

"Let me answer your questions for you. Take my hand, Ms. Mako."

"What?" I ask, immediately taking a few steps away from him. "No way."

Again the short breath. "Believe me, Ms. Mako, I desire not to do this as much as you do, but for the spell to be effective you must take my hand."

Reluctantly I walk back towards him and, avoiding contact as much as possible, slightly touch my fingertips to his. As soon as I have done so Clouse closes his eyes and breathes deeply, and when I blink I'm somewhere else, much like in our wartime drills, and we are definitely in a war.

Shouts and battle cries and screams fill the air as I glance around at my surroundings, of people battling with swords and old archaic weapons, but there are also strange sounds that I can barely pinpoint – the rushing of a waterfall, the roar of a fire, the crack of lightning. Everything seems so real but somehow sways only slightly like a mirage or I'm viewing the scene through the surface of a lake.

"Where are we?" I ask, and my voice is distant and reverberates throughout the entire battleground.

"The memories of a soldier, passed on to me." Clouse replies, a few steps behind me. "This is the Great War."

"Borg versus the snakes?" I wonder, knowing as I say so it can't be.

"No. Borg versus his people. The extinction of the gifted. The fall of the elementals."

Gasping, I whirl around and examine my surroundings more closely. In the distance I see an old man whirling his throwing stars around his head, urging on his attackers. A middle-aged woman sends bolts of lightning through rows of orderly soldiers, causing whole columns to collapse to the ground, twitching. Some soldiers slip on sheets of ice that coat patches of the field, and some are firing deadly rounds. An obviously pregnant woman sends waves of water to rush over everyone who approaches her, and red blood mixes with the elemental water she has created.

"Extinction. They're all going to die." My voice is hollow.

"Not all do. Borg's soldiers were just too many. The elementals had been expecting the attack. They were ready. The gift is not only hereditary, too, like magic. Some are simply born with it. You are the first generation after the purge."

"The purge…" I close my eyes and fight back tears and when I open them again I'm back in the training room.

"Why did you show me?" I ask, keeping my tone level.

"You should see how they left – fighting."

"Why did Borg kill them?"

"They were a danger to his rule. Have you ever heard the term nature always wins? Despite whatever technology you have, the elements will always take back what is their own."

"So what do we do?"

"For now? We train. However much you think you have improved you still are weak, and we have much to learn before you are fit for battle."

"Thanks."

"Ms. Mako, while teaching you is not ideal and I desire every minute to return to my home I must admit that here I am on the right side. I am on your side."

"Say it all you want, I don't believe you. You'd be on the next bus home to Borg Tower if you could."

"I don't need your faith. I need your power. And your power will be worthless if you do not train. Come! We have much to do."

 **When you reread and realize your chapter is 90% dialogue... Oh well.**

 **So since I am actively writing this again (albeit slowly) I'm super excited for the upcoming chapters. Fridays can't come soon enough, eh?**

 **Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! Please drop in a review if you wish :)**

 **Until next time, then!**


	21. Chapter 21

**This chapter is a little shorter than usual, just a heads-up.**

 **And where are my manners? Welcome back to FP! Enjoy as always and read on!**

Chapter Twenty One – Lloyd

My second Graduation is just as rowdy as the first with bets being tossed about and crazy rumors spreading like wildfire through the barracks. Cail had accidentally dropped a clue about the upcoming ceremony and ever since training has been amped up to a fever-pitch, but this time it's the other soldiers fighting to keep up. I've trained every day and grown steadily stronger, steadily better, climbing up the soldier rankings with startling speed for someone my age. While I'm above average in combat and strength my best skill seems to be dumb tricks – overcoming impossible odds despite my disadvantage. And this time I'm not the one talking about which soldiers might graduate – the soldiers are talking about _me._

"Betcha the kid'll go this time."

"Naw, not him. He couldn't even fire a gun when he got here!"

"Yeah, well he's Thrace's _golden_ boy isn't he? He gets special privileges."

"They wouldn't take a kid over a real soldier. You know that."

"Tell it to Thrace, mate."

Despite my success everything I've done in training seems distant, every scrap of my being still focused on the execution until my hands tremble and the sounds of gunfire roar in my ears. Finn's last words trumpet over the rounds and I have to shut my eyes to keep the tears at bay.

Finn's death is like a physical wound, pulsing with pain. How could I fail him? How could I be such a failure?

The Graduation should be tomorrow and every soldier is falling over themselves trying to impress Cail, who hasn't given anyone's antics a second glance besides the occasional raised eyebrow at a particularly stupid stunt. I maintain my calm and perform as I know I can, mechanically shooting targets, shooting targets, shooting people. The routine helps keep the memories at bay, focusing only on the process of aiming, firing, each bullet a reflection of the one that killed Finn.

But every time I remember Finn the ember of rage in my chest burns so brightly it hurts and brings tears to my eyes and I _can't_ be weak, not here… But the alternative is equally horrible. I can't embrace it. I can't have killed him, Borg can't have killed him. Finn can't be dead.

The reasonable part of me tells me to get it together, that I didn't even know Finn that well, that his death shouldn't rattle me. I should keep going, keep training, and so I do.

As I look over the members of my barrack training I realize that I've never really befriended any of them – not like they'd want to befriend me. First a kid, and then one that might take their place in graduating? I like to think I don't need companionship, but of all times a word of encouragement would be welcome. A smile, a kind sentence or two. But this is graduating, this is war, and if you show any sentiment you're pegged as weak. The emotions inside of me reach a pressure point so great I can hardly bear the strain.

We run through shooting drills for most of practice, suspended from the air at various angles, from arms or legs, and upside down, which used to be impossible but now seems remotely manageable. I feel a spark of satisfaction when Cail gives me an approving nod after I finish my reps – even he doesn't know what to make of me, but I assume he attributes my success to himself. And really, I'm not sure what to attribute my success to either.

The whispers follow me to dinner, plague me while I eat, and chase me out the door. Lists pass over tables of supposedly hacked Graduation lists and personal opinions, and not-so-subtle glances watch me as I eat. I try to focus on my meal and not on the faces of those around me, but it's nearly impossible and I end up eating very little and retiring to my bed early to escape the view of the others.

Once I'm alone in the barracks, though, I let the memories of Finn rush in and I can burn away from the views of others, a burning so strong it rattles the bunk beds and makes the very ground beneath me tremble, and the rage inside me grows and grows until I can barely hold it in anymore and my hands sear with its heat and burn into the sheets of my bed – although I think I'm just imagining it.

I'm angry for a thousand reasons, an anger so great I want to scream and wail at the same time, but there's nothing I can do. Finn, who only ever helped me, is dead, and I had to watch. My hands shake when I think of Borg's tone, the unhinged madness and perverse pleasure. He _enjoyed_ it.

When the other soldiers come in, chattering loudly and fiddling with the wall port, trying to change the time to tomorrow to see if we have a Graduation, rambling on about this god-like talented guy in the other barracks, I catch some of their conversation.

"So I heard something about this man who apparently took his instructor and threw him like a javelin onto the catwalk…"

"I think I've done pretty well this round, not to brag or anything. I might have a chance."

"How many will they carry this time? I heard once they has a Graduation and they didn't take a single one – just said no one was good enough! How about that, eh?"

Lights-out sends the world into shadow. I close my eyes and when I open them again the barracks are thrown into a frenzy, with soldiers dashing about everywhere, shouting and shoving their boots onto the wrong feet.

"Is it today?" I ask sleepily to a nearby soldier, and he nods eagerly.

"You betcha! Come on, we're about to be dismissed to the ceremony, you won't want to miss it!"

I lace up my boots and put on a clean uniform just in time for Cail to arrange us into lines and parade us into the training room, where there are chairs assembled again and instructors standing on the stage. I look to see if any of them are holding patches in their hands for the graduates but their hands are behind their backs. Excited whispering fills the room with a constant rustling sound that does not settle until Cail takes his place on the stage and signals for silence.

"Thank you. I'm sure you know why we're here – to celebrate the exemplary soldiers of our ranks who deserve a promotion. And let me tell you – some of you certainly do!"

Cheers fill the training room and a few soldiers stand on their chairs and start to clap.

"And now, the moment you've all been waiting for – who's going to Graduate?"

"Stop stalling!" Someone yells, and the other soldiers whoop and shout in response.

"Fine, fine…" Cail says, strolling forward on the stage and displaying a single patch.

"Wait… Just one?"

"Man, we're screwed!"

"This belongs to Lloyd Garmadon!"

Every head turns my way and I rise slowly but confidently and walk up to the stage. Like before the whispers and glares and astonished faces follow me all the way up the stairs. I take my new patch and hold it in my palm and wait for Cail to announce the next Graduates, but he instead turns to the other instructors, who are filing off the stage.

"Um… That's all." He adds, and the crowd erupts with swearing and shouting and complaints.

I stand on the stage somewhat awkwardly for a moment before Cail ushers me over and I walk over to him, slightly confused.

"Go to Service and they'll get the patch on for you – I'll send your new instructions through by wall port. And you might want to get out of here, some of the soldiers look out for blood." I don't need to look behind me to affirm his statement.

"And good luck, you'll do fine in squad!" Cail says, somewhat pompously, and saunters off to the lift. I follow him at a distance and take the next empty lift to the nearest Service floor. The doors close unusually slowly and I peer through the crack at the soldiers walking back to their barracks, complaining or talking amongst themselves. I'm leaving my home behind, but it doesn't seem too much like home now. I've moved on.

And before the Service woman sews the patch onto my sleeve I know that I've moved on. I've changed. I need to let Finn go if I ever want to improve. If I ever want to stay human, to stay a rebel, I need to keep moving. I picture Finn in my head, his smile, his wisdom, and bid him farewell. I will fight for him, but I will not be so greedy to kill for myself. The ember of rage inside of me dies and I smile, and the Service lady smiles back at me, thinking I'm grinning at her. Instead I feel the weight inside of me lift and when I print off my new orders I don't even notice they're not orders at all but a summons, not until I've arrived at Thrace's office door.

 **My angsty little characters, all grown up... Think Lloyd will have a good squad leader? Judging by our previous track record, the odds are _not_ in his favor...**

 **Can I just thank you a million times over for your continued dedication to this story? You're all actually amazing, and it's humbling to think that you would read my stories! No flattery/bribery/anything of the sort intended, just a hearty thank-you.**

 **Until next time, then!**


	22. Chapter 22

**Who here likes elemental powers?**

 **Who here knows what foreshadowing is?**

 **Read on... :)**

Chapter Twenty Two – Kai

For once I'm spending free time in my barracks, which I usually avoid for fear of bodily harm, and I'm beginning to regret my decision. The looks of some of Tash's followers could tear through steel, and I've been on the receiving end of their fists before. They make grizzly bears seem tame.

All the same, I've gathered followers as well – maybe not followers so much as supporters. Mal obviously is one, but then they began to trickle in, eating with us at lunch, talking amicably with us, and dropping some sly hints at a change of leadership. Mal's I-told-you-so expression was insufferable, until I realized that I had enough friends to take the barracks back.

None of this went without Tash's notice, of course, and he was stuck in the awkward position of declaring outright war or still trying to avoid me. My supporters aren't pacifists, too, and they'd be willing to take up arms if I were to ask them. Our war is cold on the surface but fiery and intense below. The most Tash has been able to do is deliver punishment during training while his buddies laugh on, but I'm not the only one getting slapped around in the barracks now, just the one getting the worst of the abuse. Even so, my friends aren't deterred.

And finally I think – hope – that I'll be safe in the barracks during free time. Tash's anger has risen to a simmering heat and I know that the time has come again when he will strike out and try to end our battle. When that time is, though, is beyond me.

"Hey, we're having a meeting in the cafeteria if you want to join." Mal mutters to me as he walks out the barrack doors, and the head of Tash's crowd whip up when they see Mal and I conversing, as they usually do. A few crack their knuckles menacingly as he leaves the room. I roll my eyes and follow him out, ignoring how the soldiers then cluster together and begin to whisper together, tossing me furtive glances. Tash is at the center of them, his expression dark.

Our 'meeting' is mostly a congregation of my newly acquired followers come to trash-talk Tash and spin crazy theories of how they can remove him from his post. One soldier even has his nose buried in the thick rulebook of Army, flipping through pages so fast they blur.

"Can we nail him on conduct? Abuse?" Ean wonders aloud, spinning his fork between his fingers broodingly.

"I don't think so… Squad leaders can kind of do what they want. There's not really a curriculum."

"That's a serious flaw in the system! I mean, look at this devil-spawn himself – who put him in office anyways?"

"He's not in _office,_ idiot, he's just in a position of leadership."

"Naw, that's the same thing."

"Hey hey, the great leader returns!" Zavier announces as I sit at the table, and everyone grows quiet, like I'm about to give some great speech. Instead I turn and address Mal.

"Any changes?"

He shrugs. "Tash is getting antsy. We think he'll make his move soon."

 _Make his move._ This idea fills me with dread but I put a sly smile on my face. "Ready for war, soldiers?"

"You betcha." Zavier grins. "Things have gotten too quiet around here."

"I heard that a few soldiers were missing from the barracks today – something about an accident with equipment in training?"

"Right." Gil nods eagerly. "An _accident._ " He stresses the word so much it couldn't be more obvious what really happened to Tash's friends. "You know how training can be so strenuous sometimes."

"To the point where you need to put your fists in their faces?" I ask.

"They were asking for it!" Mal protests, and we laugh for a moment.

"I'd be careful, though." Zavier leans in and so do all of the other soldiers. "We've been preparing for this for a while now and I think Tash has, too. I wouldn't be surprised if he chooses now to act."

"Tash is like Borg." Mal adds. "When he feels like he's slipping he acts, and violently at that."

I remember Ken and the gunshot a feel the smile slide off of my face. My influence, my poison…

 _Enough._

"And you think now?"

Mal nods, now dead-serious. "I really, really do."

"So what do we do, muster up arms?" Terrence asks. "I've been waiting to show Tash some of this –" He mimes a violent punching action – "for a long time now."

"As much as I'd like to see that, I think that this might be my fight."

Terrence drops his arms and stares at me with awe. "Wait… For real?"

"Come on. You know that this will be just the two of us."

"Well, yeah, but… I'd just hate so see you get wasted."

"Who's gonna waste who, yeah? Oh ye of little faith!"

Mal cracks a grin. "Then it's settled. To the death!"

I don't sleep all night, lying awake and tense for when Tash drags me out of my bed and forces me up and begins to throw punches, but the inevitable battle never comes and I dress groggily after the alarm blares for wake-up and walk into the gym for training. Surprisingly, another barrack group is already there, climbing the ropes. I ask one of the soldiers in line about the schedule change.

"Didn't you hear?" He asks, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Tash cancelled practice all day. Rumor is he's preparing for something – I hear he's got a bone to pick with one of his soldiers. Reckon that'll be a fight to see, huh?"

I'm quick to report this newfound knowledge to Mal, who spits eggs all over his plate when he hears.

" _What?"_

"You heard me the first time."

"But that means it's gonna be today! Your big showdown!"

"Yeah, sue me for not jumping for joy."

"We have to prepare you or something! I think I saw that in a movie once…"

Mal doesn't prove to be much help, so I end up wandering the rebel base for the better part of the morning until I run across Wu in one of the hallways.

"Oh, hello." He says, giving me a look like _see you on the other side._ I say a few empty words of greeting back and continue on my way.

After lunch I tarry in the lobby watching reruns of the Games with a crowd of other soldiers, worry gnawing at my stomach, focusing on Master Chen's painfully upbeat commentary and Pixal's droning voice and not on Tash's gleeful face when he pins me down, or any worse imaginings I can come up with. I wait until the very last people begin to pack up their things before leaving and trudging back to the barracks as slowly as possible, keeping my head down.

Can I beat Tash? Maybe. If we're just one-on-one I could try. But what if I lose, what will be left for me then? _He said he'd make it so I'd have to be put in Service. He wants to kill me._ Or maybe not – but it sure seems like that.

 _This has to end._ I am sick and tired of Tash and his attitude and his blatant disregard for his soldiers – and if I'm the one who's going to take him down, so be it. This isn't about me anymore. It's about Mal and Gil and all of the other soldiers in my barrack, everyone Tash has ever been cruel to. And in the place of my fear comes a burning anger, a righteous anger, fueled by the fear of the other soldiers, their hopes and their curses. I will be their bringer of change.

And so I walk into the barracks, head held high, not even noticing how Tash leans casually against the bunk beds, his posture casual but menacing, and his soldiers sitting in the prime seats to watch what will happen next. An ugly sneer curls his lip and he saunters forward.

"Afternoon." I say lightly, circling him slightly, somehow relaxed but tensed and ready for action.

"Afternoon." Matching my tone perfectly, Tash's sneer grows wider. "I bet you think you're something special, don't you?"

"Oh?" I feign ignorance, eyeing the ceiling in a nonchalant fashion. "Is that so?"

"You and your little gang, thinking you're so important, so _special,_ Thrace's little golden boy. Well, I'm here to put you in your place." Tash stops pacing and faces me, curling his hands into fists. "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

"What – finally showing your soldiers how weak you are? You can't lead them based on your own skills. Face it, Tash, you're lazy. You have to get them to follow you, but how? You get them to fear you, to worship you, because the alternative is so, so much worse."

"You would know, wouldn't you? I've seen your puny face before – _oh, please don't hurt me, Tash, I've just come back from the Hunger Games, look how special I am! Love me! Everyone else does!_ Well, no can do. You've paraded these halls like a prince for too long. Let's see Thrace's champion now!"

I anticipate the punch before it comes and dodge out of the way, but Tash counters before I can retaliate and stands ready in front of me again.

"That's what makes you weak, Burns. All you can do is hide away and let the grown-ups do the work. Dodge this!" He strikes and I fly back into the bunk beds with a _clang,_ but I'm quick to get on my feet again. The next blow comes as fast as lightning – I taste blood but am still standing.

"Fight back! What if I give you a free shot, you want that? Look at your precious leader now!" Tash crows, then darts forward and reaches for my throat with both hands.

Instinctively I grab his arms and try to force them away as he pins me against the wall, but his grip is too strong and begins to squeeze at my throat. I cry out loudly and lash out at his body, but he holds himself out of my reach and continues to push. Spots flash before my eyes and I struggle for breath. A faint burning smell sizzles in my nostrils and I wonder if lack of oxygen is beginning to make me lose my head, until shouts of agony accompany the scent and Tash suddenly lets me go.

Coughing and dragging in great breaths of air, I look up to see the great leader of the barracks hunched over, gaping at his forearms and panting. When I see his arms too my jaw drops – they're blistered and red, like they were burnt.

Tash's eyes flash and he lunges at me again, but I grip his arms tightly and he screams in pain. Curls of steam rise up beneath my hands and this time I pull away, staring at my palms. Reeling away, Tash stares at me, his astonishment soon replaced with rage. His arms are now inflamed and sizzling. He kicks out, but his movements are slower than usual and I roll away, planting my feet and throwing myself at him, clutching his face in my hands. Tash's eyes widen with pain and he wails and hollers as his skin blackens under my touch. A few soldiers tear me away and my head smacks against the metal bunks. Tash spins in and out of focus and he hobbles over to the wall and leans against it, his face a mask of tortuous pain.

Everyone is so focused on Tash they don't notice when I rise and begin to approach him again. The few soldiers drop back as I come close, holding up their hands in a surrendering gesture. Tash shrinks back against the wall, gazing up at me with horror painted across his mutilated face. I feel a smile pull across my face as I bend down by him, relishing the fear in his eyes. _How quickly his mood has changed now._

"Who's cowering now?" I ask, singsong-like, and Tash scoots further away. I clench the sleeve of his jumpsuit which curls and disintegrates in my fist, ashes trickling into my palm. "Look who's afraid now? Who's the weak one? Who's the _leader_ now, Tash? You were a god – you were indestructible, untouchable. And now what?"

I round on the soldiers, grinning. "Who do you fear now?" I shout, and they retreat, moving away from me, backing against the walls or bunk beds. Not finished, I spin and glare at Tash, who whimpers and chokes back a sob.

" _Who do you fear now?"_ I repeat, kicking Tash in the ribs, like he did to me on so many occasions, and his eyes pop as he slides down to the ground, breathing raggedly. I grip the metal bars of the bunk beds and the metal bends under my hand, molding to my fingers. I have no idea the nature of my newfound gift, but looking at Tash crumpled on the ground fills me with a savage fire that powers my rage even more. Trading can be thrown out the window – _this_ is my new gift, and I will use it.

But as I turn to the other soldiers I read their faces, their expressions, like I've done for so long and I suppose will always do. The only emotion I see is fear – real fear, not just respect, true terror. And I turn to Mal, whose features are slack and horrified, I don't see the person I used to consider a friend – and I don't think he does either.

Reality sets in like a heavy blow, and I sprint out of the barracks, running for my life.

 **If writing is coffee, this is cappuccino. Things are heating up at the rebel base, literally.**

 **Hey if you enjoyed please drop in a review! They really make my day :D**

 **I guess that might be all... Until next time, then!**


	23. Chapter 23

**Hey so things are starting to heat up around here... No pun intended. Did I make this joke last chapter?**

 **Ah, whatever. Read on!**

Chapter Twenty Four – Ming

Sometimes I think it's ridiculous how quickly news spreads around here.

"Did you hear about the Lightning boy? He set off a magnetic pulse projector that vaporized his entire cubicle! He wasn't hurt, but I heard he has his clothes fried off…"

"Save Tash! Every donation counts!"

"Apparently that big ice storm we had for a few days – that was one of the tribute's doings! I dunno how they know… And it was Guido who told me, so I can't exactly affirm it as fact, filthy Single-lover."

"Extra, extra! Massive earthquake shocks rebel base! Little damage leaves _big_ questions!"

Suddenly all eyes are on the tributes again, including me. Hunger Games reruns are instantaneously ten times more popular than they were, with every spare moment of a soldier's time spend staring at the projection, searching for clues.

"See that! That, there!"

"They have earthquakes in the Games already… Don't hit your head anytime soon, you can't waste the remaining brain cells."

"Real clever, Gene..."

The worst part is I'm constantly being assailed by random soldiers and grilled for information about the other tributes.

"Hey, you! There's a little bit of money in it if you'll spill to us about the tribute guys."

"Oi, freak! What're you gonna do next, ya little traitor?"

"Crying home to Borg, kiddo?"

I do my best to ignore their taunts, but I can't fend off the sting of their words.

Feeling like the leading person on not knowing what's going on, I head straight to Wu's office and knock loudly, the sound ringing down the corridor. He lives in simple civilian barracks, which surprises me. I expected something nicer than this for a high-ranking official.

"That's an aggressive knock, Ms. Mako."

I shake my head and put on my most winning smile. "What is going on?" I ask through my teeth.

Wu's expression hardens. "I don't know what you mean." He replies, and his tone is frustratingly even.

"I think you do." I say, dropping my facade and glaring at him. "There have been disasters everywhere, and they're _magic._ Not like magic I've ever dealt with before... Different. Elemental magic – I've studied it in my books that you so kindly gave to me. It's an elite branch of magic, almost as selective as dragon tamers. Now how do we happen to have four people in this building with that gift?"

"They were chosen."

I frown. "How? Who chose the gift for them?"

"Not for their powers... Chosen by Thrace. He saw their potential and rigged the Reaping odds."

"Tell me something I don't know."

Wu casts me an impatient glance. "I'm getting to that." He says, and I close my mouth quickly. "Magic like yours or theirs is elusive, but not undetectable. And as for the nature of their gifts, I cannot say. Coincidence has favored us."

It sounds like a dumb answer, but when I think about it, there's really no better way to describe it. "Yeah. Guess so. But that still doesn't answer my question."

"Oh?" An arched eyebrow now. This man is a master of facial expressions.

"What is Thrace going to use them for? I know he may seem like a savior, but he wouldn't just let five perfectly weaponizable kids just waltz around his building during the war. What is our – my – purpose?"

"There is one, actually." Wu contemplates. "But you don't know of it yet. Fear not, though. All will come clear in time."

And with that perfectly cryptic answer he closes the door before I can reply.

The rest of the day I spend hunting down the other tributes. I only find Cole and Zane, both hard at work at their training stations, and they don't have overlapping free periods so I can't meet with them together. Cole is free the soonest, though, so I drag him into the cafeteria and ask him for information about his newly unlocked powers.

"You and everyone else who wants to know." Cole mutters, pointing at the other soldiers who are sitting nearby, their heads angled towards us. We decide to walk instead, quickly losing any followers in the winding corridors of the rebel base.

"It just happened one day." Cole admits to me as we meander through an office floor. "I was doing another simulation in the battle room planning place, you've probably seen one before, and I was frustrated with the schematic, and it just happened – an earthquake, and I was the epicenter. And I didn't want it to wreck the base or anything, because there are _bombs_ and things on the lowest floors, so I just kind of willed it to not do any damage, and it stopped. It was the strangest thing, and I felt off afterwards too, kind of like when you stop short after spinning around for a long time, when the world kind of moves in slow-motion. After that, nothing. I haven't tried to summon anything else, and I dunno if I can. Plus," He adds, looking downhearted, "No one even talks to me anymore. I've risen a lot in the class odds and people think I might graduate next time around. There's a lot of enmity among the lead choices, and people will do anything to improve their odds. None of this bodes well for me, too... Kids are about as important as Singles in the barracks, and the soldiers don't like being outstripped by someone who they think is their lesser."

I'm about to say some empty encouraging words when I realize I really can't relate to Cole. He's been mistreated by the soldiers, whereas I've been accepted. What do I say now?

"Why haven't you tried to use your powers again?"

Cole's eyes widen and he shakes his head vigorously. "No way. I'm already an outcast as is, the only thing I need more that that is for everyone to know I'm some kind of sorcerer. Yeah, I'll pass."

I shrug. "You're handling the whole elemental magic thing remarkably well."

"Well? I'm constantly freaking out on the inside. Just when I think I'm good at something, just when I think I can handle something, just when I think I can make it here, they throw me a curveball. I didn't want to be this!" He gestures wildly with his hands, and I bow my head. _Now_ I can relate to Cole, the initial rejection of what I was, wishing to be anything but.

"Listen..."

"Please don't. Please don't say it's going to get better, that everything will turn out all right. Just... Don't."

"I don't know what his plan is. _Breaking_ all of us – do you think he believes it'll make us easier to work with, easier to obey him?"

"You make him sound like Borg."

"Yeah, maybe I'm too rough about the rebels. But still..."

Cole fixes me with an intense gaze and I freeze. "Maybe I am too... And maybe it's after time in the Arena, but I still don't fully trust him."

"Me either." I admit, letting out a breath.

We're both silent for a second, not really knowing what to say, until Cole speaks again.

"I just don't _get_ it. Magic elemental powers? Thrace knew about them, but _what?_ Maybe it's because I was raised by Borg, and I thought Nindroids were as weird as it got. But now this? What do my powers even do? What do they mean? What's the bigger picture? I look like I have it all together, but I'm crazy on the inside. The questions are making me go insane."

Hearing him say it I almost cry with relief. "I know! Every time they try to offer us answers we just get more questions."

Cole has to leave for more training, and I find Zane next on the Mechanic's floor, tinkering with a huge robotic spider-like structure. He hears me come in and slides out from the underbelly of his creation, then gestures at it.

"It's a bomb-seeking device. It can trigger land mines before soldiers cross, and it's more efficient that bomb-sniffing dogs with its sonar." He pauses for a second, then glances up at me. "Um, can I help you?"

I nod firmly. "I need to talk with you."

Zane groans and turns away, taking a wrench out of a tool chest balanced precariously on top of a stack of sheets of metal. "Please, if you've come to ask about the ice storm, you're wasting your time. I think I've told everyone in the base the same thing: _I don't know how it happened._ Okay? Just because I'm from Ice doesn't automatically mean all this weird stuff is my fault." He tugs at a loose screw and it clatters to the ground, breaking the silence.

"You know what really happened, don't you?" I ask, and Zane glares at me.

"No, I don't. Now, please, if you have nothing better to do, leave me in peace."

I take a step forward and summon a tendril of purple fire in my palm. The Ice boy is still for a second, gaping, then he realizes what he's doing and closes his mouth, and sets his tools down.

"Okay, I'll talk." He admits. "But first, what was that?"

I close my palm and the fire is extinguished. "I'm a sorceress, Zane."

He nods, as if this is no big surprise to him. "I kind of figured. I mean, there was something strange about you from the beginning." He speaks plainly, which startles me for a second.

"Yeah, great. Anyways, I was wondering what happened the day of the ice storm."

Zane sighs, pressing his fingers together like he's praying. "You really want to know? I was angry because the other scientists were being... Cruel, I guess. Most of them are nice, but a few are contemptuous because I'm younger than them but put out better work. Anyways, I was just working on the skeleton of the device here when a few of them started to taunt me. Usually I can take their criticism, because it's unrelated to science so I find it irrelevant, but that day I just snapped. I got angry, very angry, and at the same time that big storm blew up. I like to think it's a coincidence, but I could feel it like a part of me, and I was outside too, controlling the storm. It was the strangest thing, and then it went away and the sensation was gone. Instantly I started to undergo tests, trying to find the anomaly, but it's hard to know what to look for if you don't know it yourself. Word gets around, though – the other tributes are displaying similar aptitudes to their elements?"

"I guess so." I reply simply. "It's funny, I always thought elements were kind of dumb. Never really knew what they were for until now. Do you think everyone has this power?"

Zane shakes his head. "I can't imagine. There would be a lot of freak weather, wouldn't there? That's my theory."

"Sounds right to me."

Zane studies me for a second. "You look confused." He says.

"Oh... I was just thinking. Everyone else has had a bad experience with the other soldiers. Like you said, there are nice ones, but they can also be unkind."

Zane snorts slightly, and I turn to face him sharply. "What?"

"Nothing." He says. "It's just that unkind is a mild way of putting it."

"Really?" I ask, leaning in closer. The Ice boy nods, and the pain is mirrored in his eyes.

"Really. I don't really know how to describe it, sorry. I thought the rebels would be different. They're powerful and unified, but also heavy-handed and unsteady sometimes, and sometimes like you said, unkind. I imagined them perfect, and this is the reality, that's all."

"I thought I wouldn't be confused all the time." I complain, and Zane laughs lightly.

"I feel the same way. I wish they would just tell us everything straight for once."

"Maybe soon."

"In your dreams."

"Why do you think they keep secrets from us?" I ask, not really expecting an answer, but Zane readily replies.

"I've been thinking about that too. Why is it so important to keep us ignorant? It's what Borg did to us back at school, tried to dumb us down so we wouldn't know any better. It worked, and I hope it doesn't work here."

"You and all the rest of us."

 **So Zane and Cole exist. Way to get some screen time, you guys!**

 **I legitimately cannot thing of anything to write here. I've backspaced entire lines like three times over.**

 **I guess that's all? Until next time! :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**So I messed up the chapters - this one should be directly after Ch 22... I can change it later, but for now I'm lazy and I'll just leave things as they are.**

 **Anyone else so glad it's Friday? Read on! (ooh that smooth transition)**

Chapter Twenty Three – Thrace

I find him in an empty storage room, sitting against the wall, his handprints burning into the floor.

"May I come in?" I ask, and he barely nods, eyes trained on the floor.

I stand in silence for a few second before the Fire boy breaks the silence, raising his head to face me.

"What _is_ this?" He asks, and his voice is broken and crushed, and when I look into his eyes they're like shattered glass.

"You're from Fire, aren't you?"

"Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Not a joke, no. You have a gift."

"Yeah, I know. But not this."

And as I look down at the boy who put his squad leader in the hospital, looking at the weapon he has become, I smile.

"Let me guess – this helps you even more. Now you'll weaponize me, use me against Borg, all for the war effort. Am I right? Go ahead, I can take it." As he says so he smiles too, but his is sarcastic and twisting, as pained as his eyes.

"No. We will not."

A bitter laugh. "Wow, a rebel leader and a liar. Quite a combination."

"I am not lying."

"Yeah?" He asks, slamming his hand against the wall of the storage room, and the metal around his hand glows red then white, bubbling like boiling water. "That's all I am to you, that's all I ever was. _Don't lie to me!_ Tell the truth!"

I open my mouth to speak, but the Fire boy cuts me off. "I know what you're going to say. Some crap about understanding my new gift, blah blah blah. Come off it! You might as well put me in a test tube already."

I bow my head, choosing my words carefully. "You are not alone in this."

"What, you going to send me to the psych ward? In case you haven't noticed yet –" He waves his hand at me – "You can't exactly keep me stuck up in anything anymore. Unless…" His eyes go wide.

"The tributes."

Closing my eyes, I nod. _So he's done it. He's found out._

"I'm from Fire, aren't I?" He asks quietly, then stands and begins to pace. "And the other tributes – oh, genius! You and your genius plans, huh, you have a whole think tank of them, and this – but how did you isolate it? Our powers, or whatever? How are they activated? Does that mean that the other tributes – but if you're not going to weaponized us, then what is our purpose? Research?"

And suddenly he's on guard, glaring at me, and I feel the urge to reach for the pistol clipped to my belt, just in case.

 _He's not dangerous. Or is he?_

"And _you_ can't exactly keep me anywhere, either."

Loosely I reach down, keeping my arms at my sides, then whip out my gun, and aiming with trained precision, fire at the boy's heart. His arm leaps up with superhuman speed and the molten copper of the bullet melts down his arm. At first he can't keep the surprise from his face, but soon it is replaced with mistrust.

 _He's smart enough to know a test when he sees it._

"You can tell me." He says, and the grip on my pistol tightens.

"About what?" Practically everything I know is classified, and even more rank among the things I would never tell him.

"About my sister. I know Borg has her." He holds open his hands, which looks strange with the molten copper gently bubbling in his palm. "You didn't think something so big as a homecoming like that would be kept under wraps? Nah. And where else could she be? She's not on the official roster, either. That's all right. I know you tried. I know you _promised."_ He sneers, and my finger twitches on the trigger again.

"But this is a big new world, huh? This isn't the Complex, this isn't school. At least they told the truth when they lied. You lie when you tell the truth. Which is better?"

I knew he would find out. Obviously. We all did, it was no big secret anyways. People were still unaware of the return of the Complex members were either fools or deaf.

"But I guess I trusted you. Kind of dumb on my part, right?"

Do I agree with him?

"Because as much as they like to pretend you're God, Thrace…"

"I repeat, as I said before, I could not guarantee this promise."

"But did you _try?"_ He shouts. "Or is this another one of your variables, another hurdle to overcome? You and your friends all gathered around a table with diagrams and projections and other fancy things, figuring out how to make us tick, how to manipulate us into your pawns. You're no better than Borg."

"And now you're lying."

"Maybe. But we all do, don't we? It's excusable."

"I don't think that you mean that."

He raises an eyebrow. "Do I? Do you?"

I blow out a breath of frustration. _This conversation is going nowhere._

"So what do you want me to do?"

 _That was unexpected._

"Our deal still stands, like before. Because, like it or not, I can't use flatiron hands to defeat Borg. And that's the only way I'll get my sister back. That's why I think you didn't try, so you'd have leverage, still do. Smart, but a little too manipulative for free-will-and-justice-for-all rebels, huh?"

The problem with the Fire boy is that he is a balance, a scale equally weighted with both sides of the problem. If he were like the arrogant delegates I've had to evict from Command recently, I could deal with him easily. If he followed me loyally, I could manage that too. But he's always watching, noticing the slightest movements, the faintest whispers. As ever, I have to stay sharp.

"But it's not as base as that, is it? I want to see Borg defeated as much as the next person, sure. They want to see him gone so they can live a life in freedom and peace. Okay. Borg's a tyrant, we all know that. And of course I want to see him defeated so I can rescue my sister. Double win. But there's another question I have – another promise. And you'd be advised not to break this one."

"And what would that be?" I ask through gritted teeth. The spark of insubordination is perfectly placed, making we want to compliment and also punish the Fire boy. _Showing me who I'm talking to. Always on edge, always sharp._

"How do we know we won't have another Borg after the first one?"

"I believe I miss your point."

"Cyrus Borg is a man – machine, monster, whatever you want to call him – but he's also a title. Once the original Borg is defeated another springs up in his wake. Promise me, with all your power and influence, you won't be the next. Actually, don't promise – we now how precarious promises can be. Swear it."

"On what?"

"What's there to swear on? This is war."

"I do swear."

"Great. Now that that's cleared up –" The Fire boy stands and brushes the copper off of his hands like droplets of water, which steam upon the metal floor – "I want a squad."

 **That sassssssss. This scene was a ton of fun to write.**

 **Thank you for all of your reviews! Each one makes me more and more inspired to write and it makes me happy knowing you took time out of your day to read and review my work :) Virtual high-fives all around!**

 **So, Team False Prophets, now I bid you adieu. Until next time!**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty Five – Lloyd

"So you're the newbie?"

I glance up from my assignment paper at the speaker, a tall fair-haired man with raised eyebrows.

"That's me." I say simply, holding my head a little higher, but the man smiles and me and holds out his hand to shake.

"Welcome to Infantry, then. Hey, anyone good enough to get in here is cool by my standards. I'm Phil, by the way. Nice to meet you. How does it feel being a Double now? People finally talking to you?"

Phil's attitude catches me off guard, because he seems genuinely nice. "Um, no more than usual."

"Yeah, I get that. By the way, there's a hell of a lot of Infantry squads, so for reference we're squad G. Or just say you're in Phil's squad if you get lost. You'll get the hang of it soon, though. Come and meet the squad!"

Everyone in the barracks stands when Phil enters, and he nods at them. "Okay, everyone, this is Lloyd, transferring from basic Army training. I want to make sure he settles in well here, okay?"

"Yes, sir!" The soldiers chant, and Phil puts a hand on my shoulder.

"Back there's your bunk, under Sabina. I trust you can find your way there on your own?"

I nod and hurry over to my bunk, feeling the stares of the other soldiers like lasers on my back. Sabina waves cheerfully at me when I approach.

"Hey, Lloyd... Oh, my God, you're the guy from the Hunger Games! You were amazing there, that was incredible! Sorry, you've probably gotten that a million times from other people before, I'm such an idiot. But you were awesome! I would have died a bajillion times out there, and you were so chill, just going through the motions." Her perky attitude fades suddenly. "I heard about your mentor. I'm sorry."

"Thank you." I whisper, bowing my head.

"No problem. Anyways, if you want to check your schedule there's the port, duh, and we have the day off because Phil had squad leader training with General Watson. Want to come to the lobby with me and Zaria? It's just more Borg news and some Hunger Games reruns. But then I guess you wouldn't want to see that..." She trails off, eyes fixed on her boots.

"Hey, that sounds great." I toss my few belongings onto my bunk. "Should we go now?"

Sabina's eyes light up and she grins. "Yeah, let me just message Z!"

Zaria turns out to be another Infantry soldier with crazy curly hair and an upbeat attitude to rival Sabina's. She too freaks out when she realizes who her friend's new companion is, but is also really nice about my less-than-savory performance in the Games. The two girls chatter aimlessly while we ride to the lobby, Zaria going on about the Hunger Games.

"And then, when you think all is lost for him, there's sabotage! An alliance shattered by the passions of the human spirit!"

Sabina and I laugh. "You should be a writer, Zaria. You'd be great."

She shrugs, blushing slightly. "Thanks! That's kind of what I wanted to do before the rebellion back at home. I was a Metal and thought maybe I could do a column in the paper or something later. But here I am, shooting up robots. Things change, huh?"

The reruns from the Games are on and a large crowd has gathered in the same picnic arrangement I've seen many times before. Zaria and Sabina meet up with another group of Infantry people and we sit with them. I glance up at the screen and see the Cornucopia.

"This early?" I ask the guy sitting next to me.

"Yup! We're marathoning."

I've never seen what happened at the beginning of the Games, so I watch with interest as the countdown slowly runs to zero. Cheers fill the lobby as the tributes run for the Cornucopia, and I see myself sprinting for the backpack, then getting tripped by Medli's knife. Sabina grabs my hand, which surprises me, but I'm glad for the gesture as I watch the events on-screen. The memories come rushing back, a fear that churns my stomach, but I stay put, forcing myself to stay still. The on-screen me twists and runs for the woods, leaving Medli and the bloodbath behind.

After a few minutes only the Careers are left, diving into the Cornucopia and dragging out the best supplies, the most lethal weapons. They swing clubs around and aim crossbows and spar, looking comfortable and at ease. My breath slowly returns to me, and my firm grip on Sabina's hand relaxes. She doesn't let go, though.

The camera view switches a lot during the first hour or so, and there's a shot of me on top of the tree before the rain falls. Zaria and Sabina all tap me on the shoulder and point to the screen, like I can't see the ten-foot-tall image of me projected on the wall as is. Then it shows a tribute covered in silt army-crawling through the mud, and someone trying to swim upstream a river.

"Probably not an Ice tribute!" Zaria says, and everyone laughs.

After another hour we settle into conversation, occasionally watching a good part of the Games. I can see now that the action-packed clips I expected the public saw really wasn't the case – most of the footage is just watching tributes wander around or search for food, not engaging in the least. Zaria and Sabina introduce their Infantry friends, and we talk about the Games for a while, too.

"Who did you bet on? Don't worry, Lloyd won't be jealous." Sabina asks.

"I bet on Daphnes. Shame no one actually won, otherwise I would have made a small fortune." Darren replies. Zaria slaps him lightly on the arm.

"You don't mean that!" She glances at me. "He doesn't mean that."

"I bet on the Darkness girl. She seemed kind of mysterious, so I thought, why not?"

"Same! I also put some money on the guy, too, but he ended up getting gored by that tiger-looking thing, remember? Or maybe it was the Metal guy..."

"How could I not? I had nightmares for weeks!"

"I heard that this one man put his entire family fortune on the Lightning girl – sold all his belongings, everything. Said she had some kind of magical aura of potential. Lost it all later once she had died. Shame."

"And then the Fire boy! After that interview with Chen his bets skyrocketed. Probably a lot of teenage girls..."

A few minutes later when the conversation settles down I launch my question.

"This is kind of random, but do any of you know what's actually happening here, attack-wise? I mean, I know that we're going to fight back against Borg, but how?"

Darren answers fist. "Well, we've already gotten all of the resources and allies we need. Since Borg's entire kingdom, whatever you want to call it, is centered around the Tower and the Complex, there's not any real need to storm any major strongholds or anything. There's a few outposts that some squads took down a while back. So the next big battle will be the last one – storm the Tower."

"Then what?"

Everyone shrugs. "No one really knows. It's kind of a joke around here, that no one knows what the Command people do, and even the Command people don't know what they're doing. Only Thrace knows his plan. I guess it's strategic, so no one can undermine him, but it's as confusing as hell."

"I get that." I say, then turn back to the Games again.

The thought comes to me in a moment – I know someone in Command! Maybe somehow Wu will be able to answer my questions. Maybe he can tell my why Finn was killed.

I tell Sabina I'll be back in a second and she nods, and I key in Wu's residential floor into the lift and soon am knocking at his door. In seconds he answers, looking wary, then welcomes me in. The individual quarters are tiny, and there's barely room for the two of us to stand inside.

"I need you to tell me something."

"You've been promoted. Congratulations."

"Listen, Uncle, I just want to know what's going on!"

"Don't we all..." He sighs.

"Wait... What are you talking about?"

"Lloyd, I was purposefully kept uninformed to make sure I was unable to answer your questions after the Games. Now all of Command except for a select few actually have the faintest clue of what is going on. For the majority of us, we're making it up as we go along, trying to justify Thrace's decisions after he's made choices, for good or for ill. Command is tearing at the seams as his moves grow more and more bold, and more and more questionable. Know this – that I will try to answer your questions to the best of my ability, but I may not be able to help you."

"Okay. What is my purpose? Being saved from the Arena?"

"All I can tell you is that it has something to do with storming Borg Tower and elements."

"Elements? All-Element isn't even a real element in the first place!"

Wu closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know. Be patient."

"Fine. What about the other guilds, what will they do in the storming?"

"Tactical will be here or at the storming, leading the squads. Mechanic's will have designed many of out war machines, and will be operating the ones the soldiers cannot. Army... Self-explanatory. Magic will be fighting, and Service will be either drafted as foot soldiers or stay working here, taking care of those who cannot fight."

"Okay. So when is the storming going to happen?"

"I don't know. Be patient."

I slam my fist against the wall, anger welling up in my chest, choking me. "No. No, I will not be patient. I am done with being confused, with having these secrets kept from me since the moment I got in here. Will you _please_ tell me what is going on? I just want to know. I just want _to know what is going on."_

"Soon, Lloyd. I promise, soon."

I am done with soon. I want to know what is going on now. What is my purpose? When are we going to storm the Tower? How are we going to? There are so many questions buzzing around my mind I might be sick.

Wu leans in conspiratorially, like we're sharing a secret. "Between you and me, I shouldn't be telling you this, but with Command falling apart as it is I won't be the only member who stepped out of line. They plan to tell you everything. _Every question._ Every minute detail, every scrap of information still left in the dark. Every one. But I can tell you this now. They're making a squad."

"Sure. They make new squads every day."

"No, you miss my point. A squad of the tributes. Using your special skills."

"Skills, like the things they told us about in that meeting? How everyone else is important and I'm the extra? I just asked you about my purpose!"

"I know, I know. Elements and a squad. That's all I've been able to piece together."

I press my hands against my temples, feeling the pressure against my skull. "When? When will they tell us?"

"They have a series of events that need to occur before they can proceed to stage three, like phases. It was like that in the Arena, too, the act of rebellion and such. Only then could they move on. It's the same here."

"So?"

"This is all I know right now, Lloyd... But one of those events has to do with you."

 **Confused much? Don't worry, you're not alone. _Author tells all..._ In an upcoming chapter, that is.**

 **Phil for Phil Coulson because I love Agents of Shield...**

 **Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Just an FYI, I'll be on vacation so the next update will come out on Saturday :)**

 **Thanks as always for reading! Until next time!**


	26. Chapter 26

**I'm back! Post white-water rafting and still alive! I guess it's only been a day, but I like to stay punctual.**

 **No more mincing words... Read on!**

Chapter Twenty-Six – Kai

For the first time since I've entered the rebel base, I ask for something and they give it to me. I have a squad.

The first voice I hear as they floor into the barracks is Mal's. "Hey, look who it is, Mister Squad Leader! Ever since you laid out Tash life is easy, right?"

I'm actually surprised Mal isn't cowering in fear after my less-than-savory performance in the old barracks, but he seems totally relaxed.

"Yeah, totally. A breeze."

Mal laughs easily and I grin. Maybe this isn't as hopeless as I thought.

The next few soldiers stream in and I greet them, until a kid walks in who can't be more than twelve. His shirt sleeves hang over his hands, but he appears totally determined, and the two patches on his sleeve prove he has earned his place.

"What's your name, kid?" I ask, shaking his hand.

"Esper, sir. Reporting for duty."

"All right, Esper. Who was your Army trainer?"

He blinks, like he's not sure if I'm being serious or not. "Um... Hansen, sir."

"Good." I look into his eyes. "Listen. You've probably been mistreated before, right? People don't like you 'cause you're young, 'cause you're better than them."

I know the look in his eyes, the defeated expression when he thinks he's going to be stuck with another squad leader who acts like all the rest. Fortunately for him, I plan to do _nothing_ like the rest.

"Yes, sir. Exactly."

"Not anymore, kid. But here you pull your weight. I see you slacking, you'll pay for it, okay? Just like everyone else here."

Instead of backing down in submission Esper breaks into a toothy grin. "Will do, sir."

"Good. Who's next?"

Once everyone has arrived I can evaluate them as a group. There's eight guys and three girls, a relatively small squad, but good enough for me, and none of them are over twenty. Obviously Thrace had something to do with this. Even just observing them I can tell they're skilled, and look forward to see what they can do in practice. A few I recognize from other squads on Tash's floor, but Mal is the only one from Tash's squad. That might be for a reason, too.

"All right, listen up!" I shout, and the soldiers' chatter fades. "Welcome to the squad, soldiers. Just for a second, take a look around."

They do, glancing at their fellows. A few look at Esper with pity, and one even rolls his eyes. Anger spikes inside of me but I keep my calm.

"What do we look like? Kids. Be honest, you know it. The other squads won't take us seriously. They'll think we're just mewling tykes trying to make our way in a grown-up's world. But you know what I think?"

I point at Esper's arm, at the two patches sewn into his jumpsuit. "When I see a Double, I don't see a kid. I see someone who has worked to get out of the sea of Singles and make a life for themselves here. But who cares if you're excellent? You're a kid."

Eyes flash, jaws tighten. So far so good.

"And when you make rank before they do, it burns them real good, doesn't it? No one wants an ickle Single kid to make rank when they think they should. I see people who have _fought_ for this, and I'm going to make it worthwhile."

Mal salutes, and the other soldiers follow suit. "How are we going to do this, sir?"

I shake my head. "Not 'sir.' Just call me Kai. And we don't get anywhere without training. Let's see what you can do."

It's evident minutes into practice that I'm harboring the best sniper squad of them all. We're a little rough around the edges, but we have something the other squads don't. They have talent, and so do we, but we have spirit. The soldiers worked to get here, and they haven't stopped working since.

I start them with simple target shooting, pegging moving targets with a pistol, assault rifle, and sniper rifle. No one misses a target or even gets relatively close to the outside, although there are a few shaky shots every once in a while. Besides me the best shot it one of the girls, named Ashe. Almost every bullet she fires hits the bulls-eye, even with the crazily spinning targets. I approach her after she finishes shooting

"You're a great shot. Why didn't they graduate you?"

Ashe's jaw clenches and her grip on her gun tightens. "My squad leader was an arse. Didn't want me to graduate because he had to keep up his reputation. Couldn't have a teenager graduating before all of these perfect older and more qualified sniper men. I had to force my way up the ranks until he had no choice but to grad me."

She has a distinctive style that I pick up on after watching her and even try on a few targets. The form isn't as clean as my own, and the code is a little rusty, but it suits her well.

Another good shooter, surprisingly, is Esper, even though he can barely hoist the sniper rifle up to shoot with it. He's best with the pistol, and it's a good weapon for his size. Besides, pegs the bulls-eye every time with it.

"Nice going." I nod in his direction when he glances my way.

"Really?" He gasps, then beams. I wonder if his last squad leader ever gave him a compliment.

Once the drill is finished I sent them through a basic warm-up, across the bars and a few laps around the track. Mal wins the laps race easily, barely winded.

"You're softer than Tash, ya know?"

In response I cuff him across the ears, not with the intention of harm, and Mal grins, backing off.

"Okay, okay, I take it back!"

The next drill is significantly harder. I pin two targets on the descending ladder and set the soldiers on the other end of the gym. I set simulated soldiers along the wall and they shoot simulated live fire a foot above the ground. The point to the drill is to react well under pressure. I'm slightly disappointed when only three of the soldiers even hit the target, but now I know what else I'll have to drill them on.

"Three hits on an immobile target with live fire a _foot_ above your heads? What will happen when you're dueling a blade monster with fire all around you and ten Nindroids ahead? Trembling hands, sweating palms, get rid of them now. Your panic reflex will never help you in battle, so you have to eliminate it. By staying calm in any situation you can maintain your reliability."

I whip a pistol out of Esper's hand and shoot at Mal. The bullet rifles his hair and he yelps, jumping away.

"Again, from the beginning."

This time there are six bullet holes in the target. Better than nothing, I suppose.

"Remember when I mentioned a blade monster?" I pull up the simulation while the soldiers catch their breath. I can tell they're beginning to tire, but I have to hold them to higher standards. The sim crashed onto the floor and roars. Everyone grabs their ears as the screeching fades and the sim freezes.

"There, you're dead already. By shielding your ears you've just lost the ability to use your gun and, if this thing hasn't gored you already, a Nindroid has. And to think I was optimistic this morning about you!"

The jab is intentional and it serves its purpose. Ashe visibly bristles and takes on a determined expression, along with most of the other soldiers. Esper bows his head, shrinking lower in shame, like he's trying to hide himself. I frown – realizing my motivation beat him down. I'll have to be more careful.

"Think you guys can take him down?" I ask, and Mal glances at the line of soldiers, then shrugs, features pulled in a quizzical expression.

"I say no. Who wants to prove me wrong?"

This is a situation they've all seen before – the skeptical squad leader beating them down, doubting their skills. Hopefully they'll want to prove me wrong. Mal narrows his eyes and cocks his gun.

"I'll play with those odds. Let's prove Mister High-And-Mighty wrong!"

With a wave of my hand I start the simulation and step back, observing the scene.

The blade monster wheels and screeches, looking for its first target and focusing on Mal. He stands his ground and waits for the monster to open its mouth again, then fires a slug into its gut. The monster reels back, startled but seemingly unharmed, then faces Vaughn. The soldier is frozen for a moment under the intensity of the monster's gaze, then jumps clear of a sharp tail swipe and shouts to the other soldiers.

"Remember how the girl did it in the Hunger Games? She got behind it. We need decoys!"

No one wants to be a decoy, though, and the soldiers scramble about, trying to get behind the monster's enormous bladed maw and failing miserably. Whenever they dodge to the side the head follows them, refusing to show any weakness. A few soldiers shoot at the creature, but the bullets spark harmlessly off of the razor-bladed hide. After a few minutes of cat-and-mouse Ashe starts barking out commands.

"Esper and Mal, go shoot at its head. Aim for its eyes! Vaughn, Frankie, follow me behind it. Watch out for the tail. Everyone else, follow Esper and Mal's lead, stay to the front of it and keep it distracted. Stay low, Vaughn! Out of eyesight!"

The mass distraction does its best to keep the blade monster occupied. Most just shoot for the monster's eyes, but a few get more creative, shouting curses or random gibberish at the monster. One even starts to sing terribly off-key, which probably hurts more than the bullets, until the monster roars and shivers under Ashe, Vaughn, and Frankie's assault. The monster is about to round on them when I cancel the sim and the soldiers turn to me, startled and breathing hard.

"What's the verdict?" Mal asks, somehow staying chipper after a battle with a blade monster.

"Abysmal." I say honestly. "Any of the other squads could have dealt with that thing in half the time it took you to even injure it. While you were dancing around making a fool of yourself you put the lives of your squad at risk with your own ineptitude." It's a little harsh, but I need to let them know what I expect of them.

"I can hold you to the standards of any other squad here, and even higher. You have the potential to be better than any of them. We can put them to shame. But _this?_ Ridiculous and childish. I expect better results tomorrow. The only reason why is because I know you're better than this. We'll make the other sniper squads afraid to show their faces. Not like this, though."

Practice is over. I turn away and shut off the wall port, dismissing the soldiers. They mill about for a second before returning to the barracks to shower and change. For them it's probably been a crazy day.

I ride up to a Tactical floor to have some privacy to write up my impressions of the soldiers. On the whole, it's favorable. They're good soldiers, but they haven't worked together as a team before and they haven't experienced intense training before. If Tash trained physically, I plan to train mentally. Even the strongest soldiers can crack under the pressure of battle. My soldiers won't. They will be leaders who strike first. Tash will be left to clean up the stragglers.

They're talented too, something I wasn't entirely expecting for their age, but too used to following the lead of others than stepping out themselves. Ashe presented herself as a leader, I'll have to watch out for her in any more simulations and exercises. Can't have the soldiers falling behind another leader again. Another thing I didn't exactly count on – they're scared. The whole situation is new to them, and I can understand that. But the one thing I don't want is for this squad to be ruled by fear. I have to return to the barracks.

When I enter everyone jolts upwards and salutes. In response I laugh and wave them off.

"No way, that won't work at all. Enough with the saluting and stuff, okay?"

They look a little uncomfortable as they sit back down. No one begins conversation again until Esper sits up on his bunk and stares at me.

"Can you tell us how you beat up Tash? There's a lot of rumors going around and all." He asks meekly.

"Oh, this a story for the ages. Come one, come all!" I flash the barracks an encouraging smile and some of the tension begins to evaporate. "So, let me give you an image of Tash. He's a little demon pipsqueak who eats off of the pain of others. Only cares about making all of his soldiers fall on their knees. He rules over them with terror, threatening them with pain if they step out of line. Then I enter the picture – a young upstart fresh out of Army who wants to prove himself."

Ashe snorts. "You, an upstart?"

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Are you kidding? I _invented_ upstart. Anyways, it doesn't take me too long before I become this guy's punching bag. Mal can affirm this. I don't like the way things are being run, so I decide to gather a gang together, fight-the-power kind of thing. Tash already knows I'm a challenger to his reign, so it's only a matter of time until we have a showdown."

Esper's eyes widen to saucers. "A showdown?"

"Yeah, Old West style. A bullet to the chest did him in."

Everyone gasps and I shake my head, laughing. "Joking. Anyways, we're in the barracks, just like these, and he's waiting for me, right? We circle each other a few times, waiting, and then he pounces. Until..."

I raise my closed fist and concentrate. I remember fighting Tash, the anger and pain I felt, wanting to ruin him, crush him, and I fee the warmth rise up my arm. My fist erupts in flames.

All of the soldiers except for Mal scramble back in alarm, shouting, and I mime a punch with my flaming hand. "Just like that. Um, sorry about that. Guess you guys are stuck with a freak for a squad leader." I try to play off my tone as light, casual.

"Are you kidding? That's incredible! Bet Thrace is totally on your back, he'll want you to fight and all. Hey, were you part of that whole tribute-conspiracy thing? They all unlocked powers, too! This is epic!" Andre babbles, staring at the flames that run up my arm.

 _The other tributes? Why am I always the last person to know about things?_

"Um, I guess I'll regale you some other time. Gotta go!"

Time to find some tributes, and maybe some answers while I'm at it.

 **What do you think of the squad? High hopes, rock-bottom standards? I'd love to hear your impressions :)**

 **Not much else to say here, really. Until next time!**


	27. Chapter 27

**Hi hi hi and welcome back! Hope you're having a great Friday :)**

 **We're here to read, right? But of course. Read on, if you will!**

Chapter Twenty-Seven – Wu

"When do we begin?" Liam asks, drumming his fingers against the table anxiously.

"First, we need another tribute analysis. If you will?" Thrace gestures for a woman to rise and she glances at her notes before speaking.

"They have all progressed to their required ranks. Cole has become a squad leader in Tactical's Advanced Strategos – that is, military general serving beside Watson."

"And he's good at it, too." Watson admits gruffly, but I can sense the pride in his tone. "With a little training he'll even outstrip me as a general."

The woman speaks again. "The Fire boy is now a squad leader, sniper, and they will be among the first to storm the Tower. I must admit, I had my doubts about that group, but over a week they've improved exponentially. We can't ignore the enmity between him and his old squad leader, though. If I may advise something, I would keep his old squad leader far away from him in battle."

"You don't think they would go _that_ far..." Scourge asks darkly.

"Better safe than sorry."

"Noted." Thrace nods. "Carry on."

"Yes, right. The Ice and Lightning boys have continued to produce stellar work for us. They are being antagonized by their fellows, but I believe once they meet with their peers they will feel more secured. The Darkness girl and her squad have improved incredibly, too. It's like they can read each other's minds when they attack. General Watson's words, not my own. He believes they are more than ready for combat."

Watson affirms this. "It's remarkable how they are so closely knit. On the battlefield they will be an indomitable force."

"The All-Element boy has continued to grow in his skills and has emerged as a prominent soldier in his barracks. Once he truly unlocks his power then he will be one of our most powerful assets."

"When do they begin training?" Liam prods.

"We plan to give them another few days before taking them to the sim room and showing them our forcefield predicament."

"Well done." Thrace says, and the woman flushes and takes her seat. "Just another step closer to the Tower, ladies and gentlemen. Look at the progress that we've made!"

A whisper from the middle of the table reaches my ears. "That _they've_ made." Eli's voice. Thrace doesn't notice as he continues.

"Do you see now why we needed the tributes? All of the questions, all of the skepticism, and look where we are now. Are you ready to unseat Cyrus Borg?"

When the meeting is over I meet Eli, Scourge, and Garmadon outside of the room. Eli is venting about it was we meander back to the lobby.

"Did you hear him say it? 'The progress we've made.' Like he did any of the work, it's all of the tributes and the other soldiers doing things for him, he just gets to nod and pretend like it was all his plan the whole time."

"It does take a lot of work to plan out this whole thing. Taking the tributes, discovering their elemental powers, that's impressive in and of itself."

"He has advisers to figure that out for him." Eli spits. This isn't the first time I've seen Eli angry. I recall our last conversation like this. _Kindness? Here's kindness for you,_ _the Hunger Games._

"Eli," I ask tentatively, "Did you know someone who was in the Hunger Games?"

He wheels on me, eyes flaming, but then the fight drains out of him. "Yeah, I did. My sister. She was thirteen. Didn't stand a chance. And then to come here and listen to them going on, listen to how Thrace could have _saved_ her. God, it makes me sick."

We stand in silence for a moment, not knowing what to say.

"Just because these tributes are exceptional, just because they have superpowers or some crap like that, they get a free ticket to the land of no problems. They get to escape! Then why not Jemma? Aren't they all equal? Shouldn't they be? He could have saved her. Every day I have to go to meetings and face the man that could have saved my sister. Borg killed her, but Thrace lowered her into the grave."

Eli sucks in a breath and lets out a shuddering laugh. "Listen to me, going on about this. Sorry. It's just sometimes I remember... I'm sorry. Excuse me."

He walks off down the hallway, leaving us behind to watch his retreating back.

"Did you know?" Garmadon asks Scourge, and he nods.

"Yes. But I'm sure Eli would prefer if we keep this conversation between ourselves."

"Absolutely. Yeah." Garmadon runs a hand through his ruffled hair, looking shaken.

Scourge dismisses himself, too, so Garmadon and I wander our way back to the lobby. I mull over the news I heard at the meeting. _Maybe, in a few days, everything will make sense._

"What is the forcefield predicament?" I ask as we walk out of the lift into the lobby.

"Classified." Garmadon grins when he sees my annoyed expression. "Sorry, but you're to be kept ignorant of our plans until the tributes know of it, too."

"Sorry?" I huff. "For once I want to know what Thrace's plan is. Emphasis on _for once."_

I catch sight of Quill in the crowd and walk over to him, Garmadon trailing awkwardly behind me. His last encounter with Quill didn't go so well, but Quill seems at ease when we approach.

"Hey, it's my two favorite Command guys? What's up?" He gives us a lazy salute. Before I can respond Garmadon steps forward.

"Quill, I just wanted to say –"

"Don't." Quill interrupts him, holding up a hand. "It's cool, man. Besides I had a pretty sweet black eye that all the girls were asking about, so I guess I should be thanking you."

Garmadon looks relieved as we sit with Quill and Louis to watch the news feed from the Complex.

"It's mostly been Games reruns, but this is one of Borg's propaganda shows. He said the Complex had been retaken yesterday. As if the poor blokes in Borg Tower would believe that. Hell, a Single wouldn't believe that, and that's saying a lot, right?"

Louis and a few of the other guys nearby laugh. "Why is he trying so hard?"

Quill shrugs, glancing at the feed. "I dunno. Seems like a guy would know when to throw in the towel, ya know? Guess he still has followers in the Tower. Still... Dunno."

The commercial is bright and filled with shots of heroic-looking rugged soldiers shooting at an unseen foe. In the next shot they are seen posed next to Borg, who tries to look equally worthy in his wheelchair but fails miserably. His lopsided smile looks even more twisted than ever.

Louis rolls his eyes. "They've been playing this trash all morning. Hopefully Mechanic's will patch through some Games reruns."

As if on cue the commercial fuzzes out and the camera swivels to face the Cornucopia in the Hunger Games. Cheers rise from the crowd and Quill joins in.

"All right! Now we're talking!"

I try to pin how far into the Games the video is – after the beginning, but still pretty early. The Careers swarm around the Cornucopia, picking up objects at random and messing around with them. The Metal boy finds a club studded with throwing knives and holds it aloft.

"What idiot thought _that_ would be a good weapon of choice?" Quill scoffs. "Might as well have given him a bone club or something."

Every so often the view will switch to some other tribute. None of them are very interesting, even when the Lightning boy falls out of a tree. The crowd titters and pokes fun at him, but I know that most of them will be operating his inventions. How many would be dead without him?

"It's weird to think they're pretty much winning the war for us. And they're kids! Just seems odd. I'm grateful, of course. But who would guess he was a mechanic genius?" Quill points up at the screen. "I'm cool with it, but I think some people are jealous. They think nothing good comes out of 'em, or ever will. Have you seen the plane designs the Lightning kid made, though? They're epic! Who would know, right?"

"Who would know..." I muse, then turn sharply to face Garmadon. "Who would know?"

He glances up at me. "Excuse me?"

"How did they know? The elemental magic. How did Thrace figure it out?"

Garmadon's brows knit. "I don't know. Obviously he picked them for their gift, along with their skills. Yet they couldn't find someone to tutor Ming until Clouse came around." He frowns.

"You don't think Thrace is keeping secrets from us?"

"Not secrets. It's just impractical. If you could scan a population for magic, and could detect those who had elemental gifts... Is the gift just that rare? How come no one could use it before? Then there's Clouse. Perplexing."

"Perplexing, indeed." _Just another question to add to my miles-long list._

Onscreen the Fire girl is rubbing a stick against a log, trying to create a spark and failing miserably.

"Ironic, right?" Jokes Quill, and I'm distracted from my thoughts. Only a few more days, Thrace said. I can wait that long.

Garmadon asks Louis about training, and Louis explains his job.

"Right now training has been cut off, we're scouting the area to check out the war zone. I've been running a few flights with scanners, and they create a virtual battlefield that can be accessed from the wall ports during training anywhere. Kind of like radar, I guess. It's been tricky flying, too, since we have to avoid detection. Borg has plenty anti-aircraft for us to watch out for."

"Nantes almost got shot down the other day, but we think the guns were just triggered by some birds flying by. Can't be sure, though." Quill adds.

"Borg knows we're going to attack?"

"He knew the moment the Fire boy made that big speech. And he's done nothing if not prepare for it. Have you seen those defenses? They're intense." Another soldier comments, eyes fixed on the Games.

"We might as well be waving a big flag – THIS IS WAR." Quill says.

War. Nothing could prepare me for this.

Only a few more days.

 **fam i promise we're almost there**

 **"The forcefield predicament?" In the words of Jean Valjean, "Truth is given by God to those in our time." In the words of me, I promise you'll finally know what's going on _soon._ **

**Anyone else excited? Thanks as always for reading! You're the bomb. Maybe even the bomb dot com :)**

 **Until next time, then!**


	28. Chapter 28

**Hello, fair traveler! In sooth, I don't know what to say up here.**

 ***scrambles for notecards* Read on!**

Chapter Twenty Eight – Ming

My bedroom looks like an archaic library, stuffed with scrolls and ancient bound books. The air even smells like the past, musty and mystical. I'm glad to room apart from the soldiers, because there's no way I would be able to stuff all of this in a locker.

During a private session with Clouse I bring one scroll in particular for him to examine. Even though I've begun to pick up on the ancient language used in the books and scrolls, there's some that I'm unfamiliar with.

And one thing that I'm all too familiar with.

"It says here something about unlocking powers." I say in an almost accusatory voice when Clouse peruses the scroll.

"Yes, indeed." He replies dryly.

"Well, it just so happens that the other tributes have unlocked their powers."

For the first time since I've met him, Clouse looks startled. "You know about that?"

I place my hands on my hips. "Oh, please. I'm not _that_ ignorant."

Clouse rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, like he's trying to judge my ignorance for himself, and I shake my head.

"That's not the point. It says here that once the powers of the four elemental... Um..." I squint at a rune I don't recognize.

"Masters."

"Four elemental masters. Once their powers are unlocked then the powers of the green... What's that one?"

"Ninja."

It's so ridiculous I let out a short laugh. "Ninja? Really? You mean like those people who would hand out fliers at school, saying that the ninja had saved the world?"

Clouse's permanent frown deepens. "When has Cyrus Borg told the truth, Ms. Mako?"

Now it's my turn to frown. "I guess you're right. Wait, then what happened?"

"That's a story for a later date. Continue."

"Okay. The green ninja's power will be unlocked when faced with the power of the four. Who is the green ninja?"

"A man of legend, rumored to possess the power of the four elemental masters."

I roll the scroll up and begin to pace, ideas buzzing around my head. "One of the tributes is said mythical man?"

"It is unclear."

I turn to Clouse, a smile tugging at my lips. "I think you're lying."

"Why would I lie to you, Ms. Mako?" Clouse looks uncomfortable as I step closer, shaking at finger at him.

"No, no. How did they detect it? Obviously history is repeating itself. How did Thrace figure it out? How did he trace the elemental powers? He said he selected some of us for our skills – he meant our magical skills, didn't he? Not just talents. How, Clouse?"

My instructor is silent, eyes flashing. I stare into his irises for a second, then close my eyes and focus.

Instantly the darkness is colored with a smear of red, Clouse. I can feel the heat from his body, the pulse of his heart, and I will myself closer, until he and I are one and the same. His thoughts are my thoughts, and I plunge in, rifling through the information in a frenzy. I've never used my powers against Clouse without his consent, but now it's urgent. I've had secrets kept from me for too long.

I tear through libraries' worth of data, cluttered memories of everyday experiences. Reminisces of Borg Tower, emotions, however muted, and _magic._ So much magic that makes my heart race, fuels my search. He's seen so much it overwhelms me, crashes over my head like a tidal wave...

" _Enough!"_ Clouse exclaims, and I'm pulled from his consciousness with a jolt. "How dare you?"

Panting, I reel away from him, and when I catch my breath I gasp out what I've discovered.

" _You_ discovered the tributes!"

"Of course I did." Clouse says, the snobbishness creeping back into his tone, replacing the outrage. "It's a simple spell to discover magic-users. When I found six particularly strong ones I hurried to the ancient texts at once. Like you so cleverly said a moment ago, 'History repeats itself.'"

"What are the ninja?" I choke out, still breathing hard.

"That's a question for the ages. Heroes. Villains. I think they're a type of savior, much like the mythical angels, descending in times of peril. Do you understand?"

"That's a little metaphysical, if you ask me."

Clouse harrumphs and crosses his arms.

"You discovered the tributes. Okay, I can accept that. How did you tell Thrace?"

"So many questions..." Clouse groans, rubbing his index fingers against the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, well there's more where that came from until your precious Thrace decides to tell us anything!" I shout back. My words are sharp and echo throughout the training room, burning my stomach. The anger singes my insides and I feel like I'm breathing smoke. Clouse watches me for a moment before he responds.

"As alien as an idea it may be to you, Ms. Mako, I am on your side. I was a spy for Thrace back at the Tower. When I informed him about the curious number of elementally gifted youths that were perfect candidates for the Reaping, he used it to his advantage."

"Isn't that just like Thrace? Advantageous."

Clouse leaps forward with speed I would have never expected for a man his age and snatches my wrist, fire equal to my own burning in his eyes.

"How _dare_ you speak of our leader like that?" He hisses, and the malice in his tone causes the anger to leak out of me. I tug at my arm, trying to free it.

"Let go of me!"

"Thrace has done nothing but help and protect you. How can you speak so blasphemously?"

I stop struggling and bow my head. Clouse is right, unfortunately. I don't know where that comment came from. Seeing me give in, Clouse releases me from his grip and steps away.

"Good. Now, what were we talking about before?"

I can't speak, like someone has shoved a wad of cotton in my mouth. I've been betrayed by my words. "Clouse, I –"

"There's no need. I was the same way when I first came here. It's easier to see the worse in someone than the better. It's behind us now."

I close my mouth and roll out conversation over in my head. "Which of them is the mythical green ninja?"

"If he were mythical he could hardly exist, could he?" Clouse smirks, back to his bland attitudes and holier-than-thou persona. "We can eliminate any of the tributes who have shown other elemental affinity, which leaves...?"

"Lloyd." I breathe, snatching the scroll back and reading through the ancient runes. "Really? You think so?"

"I try to remain truthful during our encounters, if you must know."

"If Lloyd is exposed to the other tributes' powers, he'll get powers of his own? Sounds like some cheesy superhero movie."

Clouse takes a thoughtful expression. "It also may be more difficult than you think to achieve this."

I shrug. "Not too hard. Just get them all together and use their gifts."

"There's the problem. Elemental powers can have triggers, ways they are made known to those who possess them. For some it may be anger, or perhaps joy. It depends for each one. You would have to know these triggers in order for Lloyd's true power to be unleashed."

"How did they not find out about this sooner? I could use magic when I younger than them. How come they stayed normal until now?" I try to keep the hurt out of my voice. My magic ostracized me in Darkness more than anything. They had friends, people who didn't think they were freaks because of an emblem they wore.

"That's an interesting thought. I'm afraid I don't have an answer. You're not jealous, are you?"

My cheeks burn red and I turn my head away. "No!"

Later that day I ask Bide to lead practice, and he agrees readily.

"We've been needing to have a day to reinforce skills, anyways." He informs me, and I thank him before retreating back to my room to read everything I can on discovery of powers. Without Clouse it's slow going, since there's a lot of vocabulary I don't know, but I get by enough to understand the gist of the passages I read.

I'll need to assemble the tributes, too, so I shoot out a message to Zane and Jay, who agree to meet me during one of their free periods. We rendezvous in a Mechanic's cafeteria, where most people avoid us as we take a seat and begin to talk.

"We're going to do what with who?" Jay asks after I briefly explain my plan. I haven't spent much time with the Lightning boy, so I'm still sizing him up. He looks young, maybe fifteen or so, but he could be older. Throughout the duration of my speech he was constantly moving – squirming in his seat, picking at the sleeves of him jumpsuit. I don't know if it's a Lightning thing or what, but this kid has way too much energy.

Zane listens to me politely and speaks when I finish my speech. "And why _do_ we need to unlock Lloyd's powers?"

Actually, I hadn't considered this. Well, why _shouldn't_ we? I wonder if he'd rather stay normal, not treated like a social pariah. I would have given anything to be just like any other kid back at the Complex. Now things are more complicated. I have a squad now, and people are relying on me to survive.

"I know they may seem like a burden now, but our gift gives us strength. Thrace needs us for the success of the rebellion, and yes, I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. You remember what he told us when he first arrived?"

Both boys nod and I continue. "He said that he would fail without us, and I know he means it. There's something else that he's not telling us."

"Oh, wow, that's a first." The Lightning boy speaks up, tapping his fingers against the table in a frantic beat. "I don't think I've ever been more confused in my life."

"Agreed." Zane says, his expression darkening. "Do you think that revealing Lloyd's gift will get us some answers?"

"I think that they're waiting for something. Thrace and his friends. It might help."

"We can't seem selfish, though." Grumbles Zane, holding his head in his hands. "If we unlock Lloyd's gift simply because we want some answers, we're no better than Borg. Besides, how do we even know he wants this to happen? We have to ask."

"Definitely." Jay adds. "Where is he now?"

"Infantry training, but he has break soon. How about you? We'll need everyone there."

Zane grins slyly. "I can take time off. Not like my superiors will care, anyways."

"Same." The Lightning boy affirms.

We're about to find Lloyd when Zane stops us. "How exactly do we unlock these 'powers,' anyways?"

I think back on my conversation with Clouse. "Every one of you has a trigger that unlocked your gift. Do you remember what happened then?"

"I was frustrated with the scientists. Mine might be anger."

"I had just worked all of the bugs out of an experimental prototype when the lightning happened. And the rumor that it fried my clothes off is _wrong!"_ Jay exclaims, face reddening.

"Anyways, we have to use our powers by Lloyd, and, if I'm correct, his will be unveiled."

"That's a lot of speculation. We don't have to use our powers _on_ him, do we?"

"I don't think so..."

"Then it's decided." Zane crosses him arms with an air of finality. "Let's go find him."

 ***gasp* Is something actually about to _happen?_ No, I don't believe it :)**

 **There's really not much else to say here, either... I am just at a loss for words today.**

 **As always, your feedback and criticism are always appreciated!**

 **That's all for now! Until next time...**


	29. Chapter 29

_**Bonjour,**_ **my wonderful reader! Ready for more of that (confusing) action?**

 **So am I, so let's get to it. Read on!**

Chapter Twenty-Nine – Lloyd

"You want to do _what?"_ I ask the assembly of tributes in front of me. I had been heading to the cafeteria but now my appetite's gone.

"Did you hear about the lightning storm and the earthquake and whatever?" Cole addresses me.

"Um, yeah. Everyone did."

"Well, you'll be pleased to know it was yours truly who caused that earthquake. Jay here was the lightning thing."

I examine Jay with narrowed eyes. "Is it true that you burned your pants off?"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" Jay throws his hands up in frustration.

"Never mind that. Lloyd, I've been studying some ancient scrolls about elemental magic with Clouse –"

"Wasn't he buddies with Borg or something?"

Ming nods sharply. "Yes, but he's sort of tutoring me now. Anyways, there are four elements with their individual branch of magic: fire, ice, lightning, earth."

"Sure, like the elements from home."

"Right. But legend also speaks of a fifth element, comprised of all four elements. The master of this could control all elemental magic and was the most powerful sorcerer of the land."

"Sorcerer?"

"Technically, ninja."

" _Excuse_ me?"

"Yes, the elements were controlled by ninja back in the day, the harbingers of all things good and just. May I continue?"

I realize that I've been interrupting her a lot and lower my head. "Yeah, of course. Sorry."

"It's fine. What we've been meaning to tell you it that we believe that you are this mythical green ninja."

"How do you know?" I wonder aloud. "You guys have all shown affinity to your own elements. How do you know Daphnes wasn't the green ninja or something?"

Cole frowns, as if this never occurred to him before. Jay takes the opportunity to speak up.

"We don't I guess. I'm not an expert, Ming just briefed me on this a little while ago, but I can tell you what I think. Eighteen tributes go in, six come out, you know? Doesn't seem random. And you're good. Do you know how many kids like you could get into Infantry? Not many, that's who."

I would comment that he's still a kid himself, but I keep my mouth shut. If it's true that Jay got his pants fried off I'd hate to be on the receiving end of those lightning bolts. "Thanks, I guess. But how can we know for sure? I sure don't want to end up a char-grilled heap of ashes on the floor."

"There is one way. In all recorded information on this the powers of the green ninja were either unlocked through the golden weapons – _long_ story, don't ask – or through direct contact with the powers themselves."

"Contact?" I ask warily.

"In this case we would see if there's a way to unlock this without physical contact. If not, you might want to bring a pair of extra pants." Ming flashes Jay a grin and his face turns a ruddy red.

"I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?"

I should be surprised, floored to the ground in shock, but I'm not. All of a sudden mythical elemental powers don't seem like a big deal anymore. But to find out that I'm supposed to be the most powerful ninja/sorcerer of all time – that's kind of hard to swallow. My situation right now is fine, do I really need another twist? I think of Zaria and Sabina, how well we all got along. Would they treat me any different if I could shoot ice out of my hands?

All the same, I don't want to keep telling myself I'm strong. I want to _be_ strong.

"Do you guys realize how ridiculous you sound? This is the more harebrained, half-baked plan I've ever heard. So, when do we start?"

 _Did I just say when do we start?_

Apparently, now

The four tributes are assembled in an unused Infantry training room in a circle, with me at the middle. Ming stands off to the side, because she doesn't have a specific element, instead instructing us on how to turn me into the green ninja. She's also conveniently close to the wall port in case Service needs to scrape my remains from the floor at the end of this test. If I wasn't so worried I would crack up laughing. The idea is absolutely ridiculous, but I need hope. I can be strong.

"Okay, listen up! First, you're going to try to use your powers _around_ Lloyd. Be careful not to touch him."

A vivid image flashed past my mind with me lying in the Service hospitals, charred and burned from elemental powers gone wrong, with the tributes clamoring, 'It was an accident, I swear!'

"No offense, Ming, but I can't use my powers too well, or too specifically. I might hit him. Is this a necessary precaution we have to take, or can they touch him?" Zane asks, and his usually blank countenance is tinged with worry.

"It's fine." Ming responds, and panic leaps up in my stomach. _Calm down,_ I urge myself. _She's right. It's fine._

 _It is not fine! This is the opposite of fine!_

"Are you ready to begin, Lloyd?" She asks me, and the word _no_ leaps to my tongue first. I force it down and nod.

"Great. Everyone else, standing by? Good. On three. One."

The tributes get into ready position, which actually looks pretty funny. Cole reaches his arms out in front of him and his face is twisted in concentration. Jay does something similar, and Zane closes his eyes, holding his arms out to his sides. Kai just stands where he is, unchanged.

"Two."

I'm tempted to run out of the room screaming, but my feet are glued to the floor with panic and purpose. I've never been strong, and I know that now. I followed Borg, I was never a fighter. I can't invent tanks or hit a target from football-fields away. I can't use magic. I was weak in the Games and I've been weak here. Even though I can't blame myself for it, if I was stronger Finn wouldn't have had to sacrifice himself trying to make me _less_ weak. I don't want to be dead weight anymore. Most powerful sorcerer in the world doesn't sound too bad right now.

"Three."

 _I'm ready._

I feel Cole's earthquake first, the ground wobbling under my feet like it did in the Games, the raw power of the ground rumbling through the base. Next is the sharp crackling of lightning, spiking through the training room in sharp bolts, electrifying the atoms in my body, setting my hair on edge. A sharp tingling reaches up my spine and I feel the ice creeping up my body, flurries whipping at my face, the pure cold, and then the fire, bright rage and smoke that chokes my lungs, burns away everything else but pain and _power._

My eyes close as I take in each element, feeling them war for the portions of me, ice on lightning, fire on earth, and then there is no war going on outside this room, because _I_ am the war, a war larger than any human war could be. Glaciers clash, wildfires roar, the ground splits like it's been cut with a giant knife, and lightning fills the air with liquid heat and the stink of ozone. And I see things, strange and mysterious pictures forming behind my eyelids.

A ship, soaring through the sky. A volcano, belching fire and smoke. The beating of wings as something reaches for the freedom of the open air, diving with incredible speed for the surface of the earth. Shadows, darkness, bones.

And gold.

Everything is _gold._

I awaken lying on the training room floor. Ming is crouched over me, eyebrows knitted in concern, and when I try to stand she pushes me back down.

"No, rest for a moment. How do you feel?"

I try to open my mouth and speak, but it feels like I have a wad of cotton stuck there. After a minute I try again.

"Please, let me stand. I want to try something."

Ming helps me up and stumble a step before regaining my balance. Once the head rush fades I look around the training room, which appears to still be intact after the elemental experiment. Something catches my eye in the corner and I turn to it – a single shooting target, left out from training. Raising my hand, I aim for the center of the target. I think of Jay and his energy, the sheer power of lightning, the heat, smoking down from the sky and shattering the target.

The rumble of thunder. My ears pop and I leap back as a bolt of lightning streaks down from the ceiling and explodes against the target, the charge of energy blasting it to a million pieces.

"Did you do that?" Cole asks Jay, and the latter grins wildly.

"Nope."

I look back at the five tributes, and suddenly I'm more. How could I have not noticed it before? That piece of me missing, not complete without this new gift. I'm no longer Lloyd, the weak All-Element tribute who couldn't help anyone. I'm no longer the saved. I can be a savior. _This_ is me.

The wall port buzzes to life and we all jump, then walk closer to hear the incoming transmission.

"Calling all tributes, yes, all. That means you!" The voice is tired and haggard, but the relief in it is clear. An ending. A change of scene, a new act in a play. "Come up to the Command floor immediately. We have a few things to talk about."

 **I guess elemental hazing now exists...**

 **Thank you all for reading! This new development will bring some much-needed information, trust me :)**

 **I guess that's all I can say here. Until next time!**


	30. Chapter 30

**Hello and welcome back! *awkward pause***

 **You know what I'm going to say: Read on!**

Chapter Thirty – Wu

The tributes are ready. I'm ready. In fact, ready don't fully emphasize how _done_ I am with being confused. It's hard to tell who's more excited to hear the final plan, them or me. I guess we'll find out.

As they file in I can size them up and appreciate how much they have matured over the past months. The first to enter is Lloyd, and I almost don't recognize him. He's not shrinking away, cowering the shadows of the others' greatness. His chin is raised, his eyes bright, and he has a sort of magnetism that drags your eyes to him. In an instant I would follow him. I would do anything to receive praise from him. I would...

I shake my head and blink a few times to clear my head. What happened? Lloyd never looked like this before, and next to him the other tributes seem... Unimpressive.

Cole follows him, and he looks taller and more experienced than before. The two patches on his arm are clearly prominent, a hefty rank for Tactical, especially for his age, but from what I can gather he's rearing for the rank of a squad leader. He shakes hands with Watson before sitting down, and I can tell that the two of them have met before. They strike up an easy and hushed conversation.

Zane and Jay come in next and sit beside each other. Like Cole, both have grown too, and not just in stature. Zane's face is coolly confident, even somewhat snide, and Jay doesn't look quite so clueless. Then again, we're all clueless together. A Mechanic's girl can't withhold a giggle as they come in and she turns her face away, cheeks heating in a blush. Zane nods to her, never letting his guard down, but Jay smiles and attempts an overly dramatic wink.

Kai enters next and I feel the same need to snap to attention, but his manner reminds me of Quill's – lazily exceptional. He looks like the typical soldier, tall and purposeful. Every action has weight. Still, he somehow manages to look relaxed and professional at the same time. He's grown quite the reputation around the rebel base, partially for putting his old squad leader into the hospital. Everything about him is light except for his eyes. They're black holes. No humor reaches them.

Ming brings up the rear, and she's matured remarkably, too. Her rank befits her, too, the strength behind her eyes. I can see the potential behind her irises, the power. If she could use her incredible power in the Games, I can't imagine what she can do now, especially with her squad. Ming is comfortable in her surroundings, no longer an outcast. Perhaps that's what she wanted all along.

As delegates go, only the most important sit at the table today: Thrace, Liam, Williams, Garmadon and I, Watson, a few from Mechanic's and Tactical, Eli, and Scourge. I wonder if the tributes notice the limits in our ranks, the many that have been lowered from Command for their insubordination. I wonder if they notice the coldness in Thrace's eyes, the determination that could burn through solid steel. Although I've heard the Fire boy can do that with his bare hands.

"Do you know why we chose today?" Thrace begins before we're all seated, and the delegates hop down into the chairs hastily. The tributes follow suit, looking attentively at Thrace. Each of their gazes is different, though. Each tells a story.

Lloyd is full of questions. He doesn't know what happened. He doesn't know what he's transformed into. I almost laugh at the idea – he doesn't know the unstoppable force he's become.

Cole is angry, but maybe passively. He's faced jealousy in Tactical and the brunt of other people's emotions poured out onto him. He's worried about the future, about home, and he wants to prove to Thrace what he can really do.

Zane is cold. Like Cole, he's been the scapegoat of his fellows, but it hasn't nurtured him, it's hardened him. I wonder if this is Thrace's plan, some clever pun. _After all, he is_ ice. Zane doesn't care. Everything he cares about, his work, whatever life he had at the Complex, it's been torn away from him. He has nothing left, so he does what he can to survive. Instinct.

Jay is young, so he doesn't understand. He's still caught up in cool inventions and the technology of the wall ports. This whole thing seems like a game to him, and this is just another twist. He's excited to see what happens next. Like he doesn't know it's war.

Kai is impossible and impassive, as always. It's like trying to find smears of color on a bleached canvas. I can tell that he wants to know what's going on, but so do we. He has a sister back at the Complex, he told us so in the first meeting when he arrived. He'll want to know if she's safe, but he never shows it in his face.

Ming is ready. She's trained for this moment, dug through ancient scrolls, seen the magic behind the myths. She's living a legacy. She, too, wants to prove that her lessons haven't been in vain, but she doesn't have to. I've seen what she can do, and quite frankly if I was Borg I would be running for cover. She's worked for this moment, they all have. Through sweat and tears and infinite questions, they're ready. They want to know.

Their eyes say it. Their eyes say it all.

"We chose today after an event that occurred. For those of you who were there, care to elaborate?"

Silence. Lloyd shifts uncomfortably in his seat before speaking.

"It was time for me to grow up. Borg isn't going to be around forever, and it was time for me to stop denying who I really was. Like it or not, I need to fit into this role now, to accept my destiny."

"Destiny? He's got the powers of the green ninja! The myth your parents told you before bedtime. How did you know?" Watson turns to Ming, who shrugs.

"Read it in a book." Cold, but not enough to shun.

"Do you want to know what my plan was, from beginning to end?" Thrace asks, the prospect of finally understanding everything dangling in the air for someone to snatch.

"Oh, yes, please!" Jay begs, and the delegates laugh.

"How about the rest of you?" Thrace looks at the tributes, who nod their assent. A smile spreads across Cole's face and he shakes his head.

"Did you even need to ask?"

Thrace smiles too, but his smile is weighted with the pressure of the moment, all those secrets hidden behind those eyes. "All right. Let's begin. I had been leading the rebel base for a while when I heard news from one of my deepest-cover informants, Clouse, that there were an extraordinary number of Games-ready students entering the Reaping that were gifted elementally."

"How did you detect it? What do you mean extraordinary?"

"Let me put it this way – zero-point-one percent of a student with elemental affinity is enough to devote our entire time to isolating the kid. And when we got six, you can guess how excited we were." Liam explains, his tone infused with humor. The tributes remain straight-faced.

"As for detection, it's simple spell." Ming clarifies. "Clouse has the gift, like me."

"Naturally, we discovered the students who had said gifts and rigged the Games odds so that they would be chosen. Wu, who was working for Borg at the time, was at the mercy of our best hackers, although he put up a remarkable fight."

"You're too kind." Wu nods to Thrace, who continues.

"One we were sure you would be Reaped, we planned how to get you out of the Arena. Of course, there were the odds that you would be killed in the Games before retrieval, which would lead to our untimely demise as rebels, so we had our statisticians working day and night to calculate the chances of your survival. Thankfully, everything turned out to be favorable."

"Wait, one second. So you realized we had elemental magic. That I understand. You rigged it so we get into the Games. I get that. By some twist of fate we all survived to a certain point. I get that. But how did you rescue us? What do you mean, untimely demise? Look, I just want to know what is going on." Cole's tone is frustrated. As anxious as any of us.

"And you will. Let me continue. Another inside man of ours, Douglas, was examining the forcefields when he was caught by Borg and killed. He alerted us that they were weak to electricity, hence the nature of our weapons that we used to infiltrate the Arena. We have a video from the outside of our attack..." Thrace activates the projector and the Arena's shell is displayed from the view of a plane, the tanks hammering away at the boundary."

"Yeah, we learned all about the weapons in Mechanic's. Lighting." Zane murmurs, and his eyes widen.

"Sound familiar?" Thrace prods.

"Lightning. The element." Ming adds, clenching her fists. "Borg's first forcefield was weak to that element."

"Key word there, _element._ Now, I know you don't like to recall, but I have a clip from the execution."

As I suspected, the tributes recoil from the scene that the projector displays, the figures with bags over their heads, the Nindroids. Thrace activates audio and a woman's voice fills the room.

" _No, Cyrus, please, I could have never dreamed of electronegativity as a weapon, really, I can fix the forcefield – or what about my new design? The one I was working on for you, you asked for it specifically, I've worked out all the bugs, ran every conceivable scenario, please! You can't, no one else will be able to do my job, really, right? Cyrus, please, please!"_

"That was Harriet Palmer, one of Borg's Gamemakers who designed the forcefield. You hear the part about her new design? Well, we have information on that new design, too. If you'll follow me..."

Thrace stands and exits the room, with the delegates following after him and the tributes in the rear. We enter one of the holographic battle simulation rooms, the ones I've seen only the highest-ranking delegates and wartime officers participate in. Now the seats are labeled for the tributes, and they sit in their places, activating their personal holodisplays. Dozens of icons light up under their fingers like keys and they experiment with a few, calling up soldiers or cyclones until Thrace takes a seat at the head of the table and pulls up a projection of Borg Tower.

"I'm sure you know this structure?"

"The hell if I didn't." Cole grumbles. "Where's that cyclone again?"

"Let me draw your attention to a single icon, fifth from the left on the second row. Press it."

A single beeping tone follows as the tributes select the icon and it scans their fingerprints, then redirects to a new icon, a single button with an element symbol on it, the ones Borg had on the patches.

"I know someone who doesn't like this!" Ming teases, her comment clearly aimed at the Fire boy, who rolls his eyes.

"Upon selecting this button, there will be a localized assault on the Tower at an already fixed point. Demonstrate, if you will."

Zane is the first to react, and an icy storm beats at the Tower's front wall. Lightning spikes through the ice, followed by a pillar of raging fire, then earth. The Tower trembles and fissures spike across the ground.

"Okay. So what?" Jay stabs at his icon with a finger, causing flashes of lightning to strike at the building like a strobe.

"Now, let me pull up the design for the new-and-improved forcefield Borg has recently activated around the Tower. Again, Harriet Palmer says it's impenetrable, and again she is wrong." Thrace's fingers fly across the keyboard of icons and a bubble appears around the Tower. "Now, try again."

The tributes unleash their attacks again, and I can barely believe my eyes as I watch the forcefield buckle, bending and twisting, then shattering like a glass sphere. Shards of holographic forcefield parts rain down on the holographic grounds of the Tower.

"As you can tell, a combined elemental attack fully destroys the forcefield. No conventional weapon will even dent it. Better yet, we've tested the reaction with smaller and smaller amounts of each element, but the reaction is still the same. A lighter flame would suffice for the fire element, or perhaps a shock of static electricity."

"Great, remind me to bring a light. You mean to tell me that you sent me to the Hunger Games, had me beaten endlessly by my squad leader, all that good stuff, only to break down a forcefield you could have done in with a _lighter?"_ The Fire boy's tone matches his element – wrathful.

"You misinterpret me." Thrace replies, always calm. "The magic needs to be elemental, made by someone who possesses the gift."

"And how did you figure this out, exactly?" Cole asks.

"Trial and error. A lot of it." Eli responds, gazing at the holographic Tower with a mixture of emotions playing across his face.

"If you wish to put it that way, yes, we do need you to destroy the forcefield. However, we could not have done it on our own. Now you understand what I meant when I said that we would be annihilated if one of you were missing. Without all of the elements present, the forcefield will remain operational. Do you realize why we needed you so badly now? Not just because of your skills, your excellence, but because of your elemental power."

Thrace changes in a moment, from a high-and-mighty leader to a comrade. "The soldiers who antagonize you, they can't accept that anything good can come from a child. Anyone younger than them. But you prove them wrong, and it bothers them to no end. Now is your chance to show the world what you can do. Now is the time we go to war, and you will lead us. You will craft our weaponry and lead our troops and take down the enemy. And no one, _no one_ will be able to fault you for your youth again."

"So what's the plan, boss? Get us all to blast the forcefield at the same time, then charge?"

"Simply put, yes." Watson answers. "We'll go into more detail about your individual striking patterns later, as it changed based on who you're fighting with. As it stands now we have Lloyd and Kai storming, Ming and Cole clearing the battlefield, and Zane and Jay operating their war machines."

"War machines, battlefield. This is the real deal." Cole leans back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair.

"Like I said, more information to come. Now, do you feel informed? Any more questions to ask?"

"Yeah, just one. How did Daphnes die?" Kai asks, and the room falls silent. No one speaks, no one breathes.

"Poison. He was poisoned."

The word settles into the room, imprints itself into the floor, the air.

"Just wanted to know what we were getting into. Well, soldiers, ready do fight a war?"

I know what he means when he says it. We're not starting a war, we're just fighting in a new battlefield.

Which leaves the question hanging in the air above the tribute's heads.

Ming's loneliness. Kai and Cole's torment. Zane's ostracization. Jay's confusion. Lloyd's lack of place.

 _Why did you let this happen to us? How is_ this _part of your plan?_

 ***explains things _finally*_**

 **Now that all of the things have been explained, I can do no more explaining. In English: I don't know what else to put here, thanks for reading!**

 **Until next time!**


	31. Chapter 31

**I owe y'all an apology for not posting yesterday - I was at a hotel business center with the worst wifi ever, and the FIRE DEPARTMANT came... Long story short, I'm here now!**

 **Without further ado, read on!**

Chapter Thirty-One – Ming

We rehearse our part in the storming over and over again, like pieces in a great puzzle, until we're sick of it.

Every option is recognized and accounted for, every scenario run again and again until we could perform it by rote. If Will is down and ten Nindroids approach from the west, do this. If there's a tank coming at you, do this.

In a way it annoys me, because I could blow up the entire battlefield with one strong fire spell. Clouse, as dry and irksome as he is, has certainly helped my abilities grow, and it's frustrating to watch us toil over a single Nindroid when I could short-circuit it without even blinking. Even so, the drills are necessary, and I can appreciate the detail that has gone into the storming. Thrace is sure his forces will never be shaken.

There are a few options that scare me, though. Half of the guild, squad, whatever we are, is wiped out by a land mine. Everyone but me is terminated.

The ones where I'm terminated myself.

Maybe because I've never fought before I don't have the experience to be frightened by it, but I see those looks in the soldiers' eyes when a simulated bullet fizzles through them. The panic that floods over their features, the blankness in their eyes, and it scares the hell out of me.

 _Everyone is fighting,_ I remind myself. _And they have harder jobs than you do. Don't be selfish._

We're still working on a scenario when Asa and I are down, so we shout encouragement as the soldiers cleave their way through waves of Nindroids. The intelligence and strategy of their moves is evident as I watch them weave their way between each other, firing short bolts of simulated fire back at the Nindroids, calculating. They have assault rifles and pistols, the weapons we'll be storming with, and I have my magic and my wits. Although I don't need one I almost wish I had a gun, but it would be a waste of resources. The ease with which the soldiers use their firearms makes me jealous and proud of them, a surprisingly good feeling. We've come a long way from a ramshackle group of prodigies, and I know for a fact we have one of the largest jobs in the storming available. Not bad at all.

The drills without Bide are unsteady too, so he makes us work them until we can follow them mindlessly. Bide is the glue that draws us together, the foundation of our guild. Without him we're floundering, until I take over and start barking out orders like he does, but now with the lives of all of the soldiers weighing me down, too. No wonder he looks older, put under this much stress every day. I doubt any of us look the same, though.

As we finish off another clean rep I'm brought back onto the scene and Will walks off. I see sweat bead his brow as he walks past me but doubt it has anything to do with the drills. This is war. We might as well be on the battlefield right now.

Thrace sent out the announcement and the battle sims two days ago and we've been preparing ever since. Between drills, lessons with Clouse and meetings with Lloyd my schedule is packed. The All-Element boy needs all the help he can get mastering elemental magic and I was the one chosen to do it. Although he doesn't look it he's a good student and even better at magic. I could practically feel the potential radiating off of him in waves when I first met with him, and I can still feel his aura in the training room, he's that strong. How did I never notice that before? It's impossible.

They won't say it, but the soldiers are scared, too. There isn't a date set for the storming, but it's _soon,_ and we can all feel it. No one has brought up the topic, though, and I doubt anyone ever will. Brave to the end, that's us.

I take my place next to Hassen as Bide briefs us for the next sim.

"This one's a tank with twenty armed Nindroids. Ming, take the tank out quick, and the soldiers will cover you and get the Nindroids. After this we'll try soldiers taking the tank. Ready? Start!"

The tank roars to life with a deafening groan, treads tearing up the simulated soil we'll be fighting on. After so many drills I've memorized the terrain, and duck under a small hill when a bolt fires from the tank's barrel and shatters into a million fractals of code against the wall. I hesitate for a breath, then leap up and focus all of my energy in imagining the tank to be _small,_ so small I could crush it with my toe. Holding my hands in front of me, I concentrate and the metal of the tank buckles, snaps, then crumples in upon itself like a tin can. With a small ball of fire it's gone.

By the time I've finished my task the soldiers have destroyed the Nindroids and we meet back up again with Bide. He nods and commends us tritely, then moves on to the next simulation. I take out a couple Nindroids with magic and the soldiers take the tank easily. Not quite satisfied, Bide makes us run it again, this time with no physical contact to the tank or Nindroids.

"Rumors were circulating around that Borg may charge the surface of his weaponry with electric currents. I don't know the validity in that statement, but I'm taking no chances."

Training is over soon and I hurry off to Lloyd's Army floor, where we conduct our magic lessons. I can feel his aura getting stronger as I ride the lift to his barracks, where he's waiting in the middle of the track.

"Hey." I greet him shortly, in a serious mood after practice, and his expression mirrors my own.

"Hey. Did you have sim practice?"

"I think everyone did." I tug my hair back into a tight tail and face him. "Today we're working on ice magic. It's useful when you need to break into something or stop something from moving, like a tank." I remember the tank sim briefly, then continue. "Try to channel that aspect of your magic, okay? Imagine the cold, bone-chilling, reaching all the way up to your heart, and send it out of you."

"Okay." Lloyd closes his eyes, a habit I've yet to break in him, and I can feel the room's temperature drop a few degrees. My breath clouds in front of me as Lloyd pulls his hands back, then shoves them forward as sheets of ice scatter from his palms. I leap up to avoid the blast and melt them away with a blast of fire, then commend Lloyd.

"That was a good one, but try for more. Try to make it snow." I gesture to the ceiling of the training room and Lloyd raises an eyebrow.

"Is there a practical use for that?"

"You sound just like Kai. Come on, I haven't seen snow in ages." The mention of Kai makes me feel off for a moment, but then it's gone.

Lloyd, to his credit, keeps his eyes open this time and glares at the ceiling, like it's done him some personal wrong, then his features soften as dark clouds condense and thick flakes of snow drop down towards us, chillingly cold through my jumpsuit as they gather on my shoulders. Lloyd laughs, then waves a hand and the clouds dissipate.

"Can I try that ice thing again?" He asks, and I nod, brushing the snow off of my sleeves. In war everything's serious, I guess.

We practice for a little longer, then I stop him and start up on a different topic. Honing the speed of his lightning blasts, I pull up shields as he tries to break through my defenses. It's almost mindless at first, since he clearly telegraphs where he's going to fire, but soon the bolts are sudden and jarring, forcing me to stay on edge and ward off his attacks.

"Heard any news on the storming?" He asks suddenly, and I'm so surprised a jolt of lightning grazes the tip of my boot. Firing back an attack, I wait for him to recover before speaking.

"Not really. I've heard rumors that there's only days left." I admit, and Lloyd's brow furrows in concentration, although he might simply be focusing on the drill.

"I've heard the same thing. One guy in my squad was convinced that it was today, dead serious." He lets out a short huff of a laugh. We lapse back in into practice, the air sparking with our spells, until Lloyd's hands drop to his sides.

"You okay?" Training can be exerting, especially for someone as inexperienced as Lloyd, but he's made mind-boggling progress so far, more than I learned in a year, easily. Even so, magic still takes its toll.

Nodding his assent, Lloyd's gaze drops to his hands. "Does it ever scare you?"

"Does what scare me?" I ask, sending a protection spell up and down above my head.

"Being so important. Did you hear what Thrace said about how the war is practically over if we die? Just like that." I see a flicker of fear dart across his face before he sets his jaw and it's gone.

"Don't worry about it. It's the elemental tributes, and we're sloppy seconds. If one of them goes down we step in to do the job, that's all. Kick back and relax, kid." I force nonchalance into my tone and Lloyd's hands clench into fists. When he meets my eyes again I see a look in them I memorized in Kai's – fire.

"Don't talk to me like that." He growls, and I feel the floor tremble slightly. Raising my hands in defense, I lower my voice to a placating tone.

"Lloyd, calm down."

Thankfully he follows my advice and the tremor ceases. "I really mean it. Aren't you scared of the war?"

Against my will a relived smile slips onto my face. "Lloyd, I think we're all terrified of the war. Everyone is, even Thrace, I'd bet you anything. They may show their bravado, but deep down they're about to pee their pants scared. So you're not alone, okay?"

Dragging a hand through his hair, the All-Element boy lets out a breath. "I never thought I was alone until I got here. First the Army training, then this... But at least we've all got each other." He smiles faintly and I grin back, trying to bolster his spirits in whatever way I can.

"Hey, that's what magical freaks of nature are for, yeah?" I slug him on the arm playfully and he gives me a knowing look. "What?"

"I know you're trying to make me feel better." He admits, and I let my jaw slacken.

"O magical green ninja, thou knowest all!"

"Ming." His voice is serious and I drop all acting, almost like releasing a spell. The change is instantaneous and I see Lloyd visibly relax.

"You've got me. Maybe this is just my way to cope with it, you know? The stress. Sometimes I wonder if this whole thing is just a joke."

"Let me see – magically find a recruit six teenage kids who have elemental powers and genius gifts to help win a war against a dictatorial president. Sounds like a joke to me." His eyes betray a smile.

"It was always easier when I talked to you guys. The tributes, I mean." I drop my eyes to my boots, one toe now singed from Lloyd's magic. "You guys seemed to get what was going on, even when I didn't. I can't talk to Wu or Bide or anyone else, not really."

"I agree, absolutely!" Lloyd practically trips over himself to affirm my idea. "Even when you came and visited me that one time back in Army." Snapping his fingers, he pivots on his heel and turns to me.

"What's the deal?" I ask, and he snaps his fingers again for show.

"What if we have a meeting or something? Just the tributes, the night before the storming?"

I raise my eyebrows and his confident expression sags. "Okay, sorry. Dumb idea."

"What do you mean? What were you thinking?" Shoving my hands in my pockets, I start to wander back to the lift. Lloyd trails half a step behind me, chattering all the while.

"Well, I just thought, you know, like you were saying, the tributes kind of get each other. I don't want to spend my last night possibly alive scared out my wits in a bunk bed. I was just thinking we could maybe meet up somewhere and talk. It was always easier when I had someone to talk to." A faint blush colors his cheeks and he continues. "Maybe if we could all have a meeting before the battle, it would settle our nerves."

"That's a good idea, Lloyd. No, really!" I speak when he tries to protest. "I'll ask the other guys, but I'm sure they're free."

"Not like you can really have plans around here." Lloyd jokes, and I feel myself laugh, although my mind is buzzing with a thousand other ideas.

The idea of seeing the other tributes really is a good one, and Lloyd is right in that we're the only ones who really understand each other. The night before the storming, there's no one I'd rather see than them. A coil of nerves unwinds in my stomach, one I didn't even realize was there, and my entire body relaxes. The prospect of just talking with the other tributes, getting to know their thoughts, bringing each other strength... Lloyd really is a genius.

And as I walk out with Lloyd, tossing banter back and forth between the two of us, I realize there's no other group I'd rather be with than them.

 **(I'm not stalling I swear)**

 **A huge thank-you is in order for keeping up with my shenanigans all this way, and I really am sorry about the late update. You slay :)**

 **I guess that's all for now... Until next time! _Which will hopefully be fire-engine free._..**


	32. Chapter 32

**So, yes, er, war and melodrama and stuff. Wisecrack, wisecrack, useless author's notes. (Is this working?)**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Thirty-Two – Lloyd

A day after my conversation with Ming the date is announced – the official date for war, when we'll be sent to our demise. Words of encouragement and propaganda buzz through my head, all the glossy bright posters I've seen plastered across the base, words of hope, but every so often I see a glance of real life. A middle-aged man, face hanging and drawn with worry. A young girl hugging her mother, who's outfitted in an Army jumpsuit. Everyone smiles and cheers, but their feet drag and I can see the worry radiating off of them in waves.

The rest of the tributes agreed to meet in one of the training rooms after dinner, and I still have a little time to wait, so I linger in the lobby for a few minutes before spotting Ming weaving her way through the crowd. She walks up to me and smiles, and I'm relieved to see her smile isn't the fake, beaming smile the other soldiers wear, but a sincere one. Even so, she can't keep the worry from her eyes, and I doubt I can either.

"Hey." She greets me plainly, and I nod in return. "Zane and Jay should be here any minute now, and the others are going to be a little late. Oh, there they are now!"

Ming waves to my left, and I feel the slightest brush of something against my mind, a bite of chill and a crackle of lighting. Zane steps forward and I wonder if he's going to shake my hand or something, but he gives me a mock salute and I repeat the action back to him. Jay just smiles, rolling back and forth on his heels with nervous energy.

We ride the lift down to our training floor and chat aimlessly, carefully avoiding the topic of impending doom, the war _tomorrow._

"Some of the soldiers in my barracks were freaking out." I admit, entertaining the other tributes as the lift slowly descends. "One of them crawled forward on his knees and screamed 'I don't want to die!' at my squad leader, who just shrugged and said, 'Sorry, I forgot how to grant people immortality yesterday.'"

Jay nods, head bobbing up and down fervently. "Yeah, I saw some of that too. I guess people have different ways of dealing with things." In one swift motion he pulls a pile of gears and wire out of his pockets and starts fiddling with them, fingers blurring as he does so. Every so often he'll pause and the gears will be in a different shape – first a tank, then a helicopter, then a shuriken.

"Are you nervous?" I ask, a question I've proposed to many today, each with different responses. Zane barks out a laugh.

"Nervous? I'm terrified. So is everyone else in my research team, throwing papers around the room, arguing about formulas and prototypes. I guess it's contagious. I know I've provided the rebels with some valuable work, but what if one of my machines malfunctions? I don't want any soldiers' blood on my hands. And then there's the idea that I might die out there as well, and the stress of getting to the forcefield in time... It just all adds up, I guess." Zane squares his shoulders, though, and my respect for him rises. He holds himself better than most of the soldiers I know.

With a low whirr the doors open and a voice calls out to us, "You're late!"

My head snaps up and I smile when I see Kai and Cole standing in the middle of the empty training room. Both of them radiate an aura of confidence, and I feel at ease immediately. They both look equally imposing, but relaxed. Cole waves and Kai raises a hand in greeting, and we meet at the center of the gym. Zane sits on the floor and we all follow suit, heads tilted back to watch the lights slowly dim above us as lights-out grows nearer.

"Anyone else scared out of their minds?" Cole begins, and Kai rolls his eyes.

"I don't think there's anyone here who's not scared. Before we begin, can we all agree we're not going to lie here?" His questions seems odd but his voice is dead-serious, and one glance at his intensity proves to me that he isn't going to budge on this.

"Agreed. I got enough of that from Thrace already." Zane shakes his head, features thrown into shadow as the light fades over his face.

"Same. I swear, every adult here talks in riddles. Can we just have the truth for once?" Cole groans, and we all nod our assent.

"Well, there's one thing they made loud and clear, that the world pretty much ends without us. As if there was enough pressure on us already." Jay grumbles, tapping the soles of his boots against the ground in a steady rhythm. "You guys don't know what it's like up there in the labs. Scientists breathing down your necks, expecting absolute perfection, and when you fall short they get crazy mad, like they don't remember we're _kids."_ His face morphs into a scowl.

Cole raises his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. "I don't think anyone else knows that either. In my training group everything was incredibly competitive. Your rankings in the group were visible and the pressure to be at the top almost made you go crazy. It didn't help that I was young, either, and it just made people angrier. Some of the more, er, _creative_ soldiers used dirty tricks to get themselves to the top of the rankings. You were tensed at every second, expecting the worst. Top _that."_

A competitive spark lights in Zane's eyes and crosses his arms, smirking slightly. "Okay, I'll bite. You know what Jay was saying about the scientists getting 'mad'? Try insane on for size. They were incredibly overbearing and intense, and just as jealous as they were cruel. I think I've got you bested." Cole shrugs, accepting his defeat.

"What, no challenge from Kai?" Cole nudges the Fire boy on the arm. "I thought you would have horror stories to tell or something."

"Hey, I already know I've won this little contest." Kai smiles and raises an eyebrow. "Your petty stories make me laugh."

"Very funny. Really, though, how were things back in Army?" Cole shakes his head, as if he's disappointed at Kai's unwillingness to divulge his experiences. "Come on, you're one of the only people who gets it."

"Fine, I'll bite as well. My squad leader tried to pretty much torture me every day, until I almost burned him to death and sent him to the hospital. Before Tash there was Rhys, who dragged me up to the catwalk and beat the living crap out of me and threatened me every day. Shall I go on?"

"Um, I'd say you got both of us bested." Zane admits and Cole looks sheepish, ducking his head.

"That's right." Kai gives us a magisterial look and Cole shoves him in the shoulder, laughing.

Our conversation pauses and Zane takes the opportunity to speak, looking up at us slowly.

"I never thought I would have so many questions here. Why didn't Thrace rescue all of the people in the Complex? How do we know the battle will work? It's just a simulation they've ran, but what if things change? This is going to sound childish, but I would prefer not to die tomorrow."

"I think that's what we would all prefer, mate." Kai jokes, and Zane frowns.

"I'm serious. Don't you have a million questions too?"

"It was part of some stupid plan last time. Remember how they kept us ignorant or some bullshit like that?" The Fire boy replies, and I can almost feel his anger grow. When I pry closer into the sensation I realize that his fiery aura of magic is burning with more intensity. _Strange._

"Do you guys remember how Daphnes died? That's one thought I can't shake. I was watching reruns yesterday in the lobby and saw the death. Gruesome and kind of scary. Zane, you know anything about that?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Zane sighs, dropping his gaze to his hands. "We performed a toxicology test postmortem and it came back positive for some sort of poison that's not in our system. Fast-acting and deadly. From what we can gather Borg remotely terminated him, though I don't see how. It's all a terrible mystery."

Our moods are significantly dampened afterwards, so I take it upon myself to crack some terrible jokes about the Army soldiers I've come across in training, and soon we're all laughing as I give a detailed retelling of how one of the soldiers in another barrack shot himself in the foot when he was trying to quick-draw like a cowboy.

"I saw some stuff like that a few days before Grad." Grinning, Kai leans back and nods to me. "Any of the soldiers you met totally crazy like that?"

"Crazy is an understatement." I shake my head. "They were really intense sometimes."

"Except for the guy that shot himself in the foot." Jay interjects, and we all laugh again.

"It's nice to finally talk with someone who understands." Zane rests his back against the ground of the training room and stares up at the ceiling above us, eyes shifting in a myriad of colors and emotions. "I don't think Command knew it, but working with those scientists was hell. I don't want to be a soldier, I just want... I don't even know what I want."

"I want to be able to eat again." Jay moans, and we all nod our assent. "Can you just imagine a huge, juicy hamburger topped in a succulent sesame seed bun..."

"Stop, you're making me hungry!" I groan.

"I want to find more people with magic." Ming states firmly, eyes narrowed and determined. "I don't ever want anyone else to go through what I did as a kid. I want them to know they're accepted."

"Damn. Now you put my hopes and dreams to shame." Kai gives Ming a wry smile. "Honestly, I just want my sister back. She never did _anything_ to hurt Borg, and now he's striking out against her. Every night I get these horrible ideas about what he's doing to her – torture, trying to get information out of her, finding my weaknesses..."

He pauses and I notice his shoulders shaking, hands clenched in fists. The sight unnerves me slightly, since I've never seen Kai seem anything less that cocky or confident. In this instant I get an image of his brokenness, and it's intimidating. The raw fear and anger courses over him in waves that are almost tangible.

"Well, I guess he found it. I just want her back. I'd give anything, I'd die to save her." He breathes out sharply, and Ming places a hand on his shoulder.

"Now you put my hopes and dreams to shame. We'll get her back, I promise."

"Like Thrace promised?" Kai mutters, and Cole bristles.

"I don't understand that man. He tries to make a promise, breaks it, tortures us and then tells us the world rests on our shoulders. What's his strategy? I've worked the sims for ages, and I can get into the mind of my opponent. If I know them I can anticipate their moves, exploit themselves. But Thrace is a mystery; every time I think I figure him out he changes completely."

"Like an ever-shifting code." Kai whispers, the ghost of a smile back on his lips.

"Well, I want to go back home." Cole says firmly, jaw set. "With my dad there and life like normal... But I guess things will never be the same, will they? There is no home anymore. What will we do after the war, when it's all over?"

"Rebuild would be my guess." Zane shrugs. "Start from the ashes, with a new leader, a new way of life."

"As long as it's not Thrace." Cole growls. "I still don't trust that man."

"He's a capable leader, though." Ming tries to placate the Earth boy, and I find myself agreeing with her. Thrace is good at what he does, and that's what matters. I like to think I trust Thrace, but even so the beginnings of doubt edge on my mind.

We chatter aimlessly for hours, joking and laughing until we cry, browsing over topics from school to the Games, with Ming and Kai acting out a schoolyard fight scene in great detail, starring me as the lead tough guy. We compare our arms, where the trackers were taken out, and Kai notices he's the only one who had his deactivated and pretends that he's better than us because of it. We skirt the topic of war, gossip about how we think the tributes died even though we've seen it in the lobby a million times, and Cole and Jay compare their school sweethearts, asking other if they think so-and-so was more attractive that someone-or-other. Our talk culminates when Jay stands, pointing a thumb over his shoulder.

"I heard some Army guys were hosting a party upstairs in the lobby. You know, a sort of last night, make the most of it kind of thing. You guys game?"

"I've got nothing better to do." Cole shrugs, standing as well, and we follow suit. The training room echoes with the sounds of our footsteps, yawning and silent once again, the sound of our laughter snuffed out in an instant. The calm before the storm.

My nervousness fades, though, when the sound of a thrumming bass line starts to echo in the elevator as we near the lobby, a faint strain of music seeping through the concrete, and the lift's doors swing open to a spectacular scene of frenzied joy.

 **Last day before the war! (at-freaking-LAST, huh?)**

 **Commence betting for who you think will live or die... Because this is war, right? *evil smile***

 **That's all for now - I really need to keep writing this thing _stat._ We're almost there, dear reader! :)**

 **Until next time!**


	33. Chapter 33

**If I had a nickel for every time I was tardy posting an FP update, I think I'd have ten cents. Not too shabby, huh? Sorry for the late-ish update.**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Thirty Three - Ming

The lobby has been transformed. Music throbs though the room, making the floor tremble and racing through my heart. Lights spin and twist in a symphony of colors and sound, bathing the room in shifting hues of red and blue. Everywhere around me soldiers dance, caught in the rhythm of the music. Fists punch into the air, boots crashing to the ground. The sight of it is percussive yet elegant, the bass pumping through my veins as I watch the scene unfold.

"Whoa." Jay's jaw drops, gawking unashamedly at the sight before us. "What is this?"

A somewhat familiar soldier walks up to us, grinning easily. "Last night to be alive, kid! Might as well spend it right!" A girl runs over and latches onto his arm, dragging him back to the dance floor.

"What do we do?" Cole asks, looking confused.

"This, my apprentice, is called a dance." Kai nods to the crowd. "It is characterized by rhythmically moving one's body..."

"I'm not an idiot." The Earth boy fires back, but he's smiling and doesn't seem offended by Kai's jab. "What do you say, team? Shall we dance?"

The Ice boy rolls his eyes dramatically. "I wouldn't say we're a team, but why not?"

Instantly I'm lost in the hum of the bass, the thrill of the music and thousands of hearts beating as one. I dance with people I've never met before, a blur of smiling faces and a fear so large the lobby couldn't hold it. You can tell from the way their smiles crack, the flush of fear that floods over their eyes when they stop to take a breath and remember. I fend off the demons of tomorrow and simply dance, ignoring the pain in my feet and shortness of breath, losing myself to a world of colors and song after song.

When I finally step aside to take a break I meet Zane leaning against the walls, eyes sparkling as the lights rove over the crowd.

"It's fascinating, isn't it?" He asks, gesturing with a plastic cup clenched tightly in his hand. His eyes follow my gaze. "It's just water. Like we'd have anything real to drink, right?"

"I might die tomorrow, but I don't care. Of course, I won't feel like that tomorrow. Just another Reaping, right?"

"Just another Reaping." Zane echoes. "This may sound silly, but can I run over the plan with you?"

"The plan?"

He nods, face drawn and sour in the half-light. "What we're going to do when we get to the battlefield. I've been reciting it to commit it to memory, but... It helps sometimes."

"Of course. Fire away."

Zane sucks in a breath, bowing his head and raising it sharply. "Okay. We'll reach the battlefield. I'm being escorted by an Army squad, and so is Jay. Cole will be commanding next to Watson on one of the planes, so he'll be dropped down when we're in position. Kai goes with his squad to the forcefield. You and your squad do the same. Lloyd too. Basically, everyone moves in on the forcefield. Once we're ready Cole comes down and we do our thing. Elemental magic, whatever you want to call it. The forcefield collapses and all hell breaks loose."

"Sound pretty accurate to me." I respond, then walk back to the dance.

Zane's words stick with me, even though I try to lose them in the frantic notes of the music. Even though I've practiced simulations with my soldiers for what seems like years do I really know what I'm doing? Battle isn't a simulation – it's unpredictable. Kai would probably make some reference to code...

Everything is coming together now, like two planes on a collision course. Thrace's secrets, Thrace's lies. The terror of battle, the impossibility of war. And I'm stuck in the middle of it, a world of misfits and magic and children saving the world. The thought of it freezes my stomach with fear, a paralyzing fear that glues my boots to the floor and bathes me in a cold sweat.

 _I can't do this._

But I have to, because Thrace depends on it. The world depends on it.

In the middle of the dance floor I close my eyes, lights painting patterns across my eyelids. I imagine a world without Borg, a world without Reapings. Where kids can grow in up not in the fear of Reapings, the gore of the Hunger Games as their guide. A world that's free.

An upbeat song starts up and the dancers cheer, jumping in the air and shaking their ground with their pounding feet and whooping cheers. I join them, emptying my mind of all doubts and simply enjoying the music.

I catch sight of a few people I know – some of my soldiers, looking blissfully relaxed and at ease. Zane, eyes still stormy with a fake smile plastered on his face. Kai, whose eyes match Zane's mood. Williams from Command, watching from the wall with a mask of polite disinterest and disgust on his face. The world is lilting notes and color, and that's the way I like it.

A slow song plays next and the soldiers pair up, resting their heads on each others' shoulders. I take the opportunity to step to the side and find myself next to Williams, who gives me a short not and clearly wishes for nothing more than for me to leave him alone.

"Enjoying yourself, sir?" I ask innocently, taking a sip of lukewarm water from a cup I picked up earlier,

"Quite." He snaps, nose wrinkled and mouth pulled tightly in a frown. "It's just... Unseemly, that's all. Inappropriate for soldiers."

"Well, you don't know how many of them might die tomorrow. Might as well let them have a night of fun before then." I reply easily, smiling.

"What a morbid thought." Williams' frown deepens and he eyes me with an expression one might give a bug.

"Better than staying up all night, a nervous wreck." I don't want to argue with Williams, but it's fun to torment him. Like poking the gods of Command with a pin. Kai would be proud.

 _Why are you doing this? Williams has never done anything to hurt you. What do you have against him that would cause you to act like this?_

"Forgive me, sir. I was acting inappropriately as well."

Williams sighs, long and terribly drawn-out. "Think nothing of it, Ms. Mako. We're all affected by, well, you know. Think nothing of it."

We stand in silence for a few minutes, watching the couples work their way across the dance floor. Hands are locked together, hoping never to be separated again. For a moment I don't see dancers but headstones. _Morbid is right, Williams._

"May I ask you a question, sir?" I turn to Williams, who seems a little startled I'm still there.

"Yes, of course." His tone is dismissive, and his attitude couldn't be more obvious if he shooed me away with a stick.

"Who will become President after Borg is dismissed?" I believe I know the answer to the question, but if the rumors are true Williams and Thrace are close friends. His information is probably the most reliable of anyone's in Command.

"Why, Thrace, of course."

"And if Thrace can't be President? Who then?"

Williams turns to face me, face a mess of sharp angles and scowls in the swirling light. "If you are insinuating anything..."

"I'm insinuating _nothing._ I just wanted to know. Out of curiosity." I scramble for a reply, shocked by his sudden anger.

"Curiosity, yes..." Williams' teeth are clearly gritted, shiny in the flashing lights. "I forget how children are so often curious."

Heat rises to my face and I bite back a retort. Williams, as ignorant and cruel as he may be, is a respected leader of Command. It is proper for me to treat him as such. Even so, I wish for more than nothing else than to set his perfectly pressed jumpsuit on fire...

"If Thrace were, god forbid, even unfit for duty, I suppose, though there would need to be a vote and it would be quite the decision... I suppose that I might be the one to step up as leader." Realization dawns on Williams' face, quickly replaced by black anger, and I excuse myself.

No longer in the mood to dance, I circle the room. Minutes tick by like a pendulum booming in my head, minutes ticking down until the advent of war. The thought is so melodramatic I almost laugh out loud, dark thoughts compared to the carefree attitude in the lobby.

"Guess war will do that to you..." I mutter, dodging a pair of dancers as they dart across the room.

"Hey, Ming!" Jay's voice calls from throng, and I turn to see him surrounded by a group of very uncomfortable-looking men and women. They all look to be the academic type, and while some are swaying with the beat most appear rigidly stiff and thoroughly annoyed. "Want to meet my co-workers?"

His tone is serious, but those words coming from Jay's mouth are laughable. "You sound so grown-up, son." I joke, ruffling his hair and earning a few chuckles from the crowd, although a few give Jay dirty looks.

Soon I'm dancing again when another song plays, with everyone jumping about and cheering. The mood is giddy and careless, and the war again dissolves to the recesses of my mind. I recognize the cycle, from carefree to serious and back again.

"Who cares about the war, eh?" One soldier roars, earning an earth-shattering cheer in response. I can vividly imagine Williams' horrified face and can't help but smile.

At last the fatigue sets in and soldiers slowly trickle back to the elevators, each taking their leave of the festivities. The music slows as well, almost in response to the decrease of dancers and passersby, fading to a slow, pulsing beat. I stand by the wall again and watch as the soldiers shuffle to the lifts, shoulders hunched and feet dragging. I sympathize with them, my own feet throbbing in their heavy boots, but I don't regret dancing for an instant. It was an escape - a fleeting one, yes, but an escape all the same.

I suppose war really does make you melodramatic.

At last the mood dissolves and most of the soldiers have left the lobby. My chest feels hollow, as if something has been emptied from it. I'm about to walk out the door when I see something that freezes me in my tracks, makes my breath come short.

Kai and an Army girl are dancing together, arms wrapped around each other almost jealously. Her golden hair dangles down her back in loose curls, framing a face that would make even Zane's jaw drop. He whispers something in her ear and she smiles, nestling her head on his shoulder.

I feel a blush warming my cheeks and storm away from the dance floor, hands balling into fists. A thousand emotions boil in my stomach and I try to sort them out as I enter a crowded lift, avoiding jostling elbows and eye contact.

Above all I'm wounded. Who carried around his worthless ass in the Arena while he felt sorry for himself? Who practically saved his life? After all we've been through, after all we've endured together...

But it doesn't matter anymore, does it? His grandiose statements and fiery spirit, a spirit I can still sense at the edge of my mind as the lift slowly rises. Betrayal, anger, and shame well up within me and I turn my head away, biting my lip to keep away the tears.

Last night, better spend it how you want to.

Maybe in some wild, untamed part of my mind I was hoping I was going to spend it with him.

With a scowl I shake my head, clearing all thoughts of Kai and the night of dancing. He made his choice and I made mine. There was never any together, just me and him. How could I be so blind to think there was anything more?

A few soldiers shuffle out of the elevator, heads hanging with exhaustion and the realization of what happens tomorrow. What happens _today._

I storm into my room, kicking aside a pile of books. The fluttering of pages fills my ears, mixed with the sounds of tearing pages. I spit out a spell of reparation and collapse onto my bed, the threat of oncoming tears heating my face.

I cry not for Kai and his endless net of lies. I cry not for the war and the ever-looming threat of death. Honestly, I don't even know what I cry for.

It's the first time I've been broken since I came to the rebel base.

And if Thrace wants us broken, he's succeeded.

 **I was sorely tempted to write 'so yes blah stuff happens' for the A/N above. Thanks for sticking with me through this all :)**

 **I guess that's all for now? Short author's notes are the style now. Until next time!**


	34. Chapter 34

**Heyo everyone! Hope you're having a darn fine Friday :)**

 **Not much else to say here but read on!**

Chapter Thirty Four – Kai

I return to the barracks when it's probably morning, all sense of time blurred by the panic and excitement that stirs within me. Inside almost all of the soldiers are still awake, a numb sort of waking sleep that freezes their eyes open with fear. A few toss and turn on their bunks. No one is sleeping soundly tonight.

My feet are sore from the impromptu party but I'm not tired in the least, so I simply sit on my bunk and run over the battle scenario again and again in my head. Even though my squad is a sniper squad, we're going to be one of the first groups to breach the forcefield and storm the tower.

After a brief bit of coding the wall port I found out that Tash will be stationed on the opposite side on the battlefield, one less thing to worry about. Even so, it's a little unnerving to know that people on your 'side' want you dead just as much as your enemies do.

This is war, after all. Everything's unnerving.

I see a shadow rise from its bunk – it's too dark to see exactly who it is – and the soldier steps outside of the barracks. Sure, waiting for a war and probably inevitable death is stressful, but I didn't expect anyone in my squad to desert. We're a tight-knit group, and I can't think of anyone who would try to escape before battle. Not to mention it would throw off all of our carefully-rehearsed storming plans...

Grumbling to myself, I stand and follow the soldier out of the barracks, footsteps silent in the fragile quiet of the night.

I find Esper leaning against the wall, bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat. His eyes are wide and stare ahead blankly, filled with fear. He pulls his knees to his chest and hugs them tightly, rocking back and forth. If he noticed me coming he doesn't acknowledge me, drawing in deep, panting breaths.

"Hey, Esper. You okay?" I ask, taking a seat beside him. He barely tilts his head towards me, eyes narrowing and mouth bared in a sneer.

"What kind of shit question is that?"

I've never heard Esper utter so much as a 'golly gee,' so this sudden outburst startles me. "My bad, kid. It was a bad question. What's up?"

"The sky. The realm of heaven, to which I will be returning today if the odds aren't in my favor. Or if they are." He growls, turning his head back to stare at the wall.

"You're a real riot, you know that?"

Esper turns to me, eyes bright with petrifying fear. "Kai, I don't want to die tomorrow. _Please,_ please tell me we'll be okay."

Even though it sours my stomach to do so, I lie to Esper. "Come on, we're not going to die. Look at us! Thrace himself knows it, we're too _useful_ to die. He'll send his heavenly angels after us –"

"Don't talk like that!" Esper shouts, his voice ringing in my ears and the near-silence. I see the faint glimmer of tears in his eyes when he rounds on me, hands clenched in fists and trembling. "You _always_ act like this, like nothing gets to you. You always act impenetrable, and I hate it. You said you were different than the rest – but you're a liar, just like the rest of them!"

Esper's accusations aren't entirely true, but I like the kid too much to wound his feelings seriously by retaliating. "You want it straight, kid? I'll give it to you straight. Everyone here is scared, I thought you were smart enough to realize that. Get over it, okay? If you have a problem go sing 'Kumbaya' with your angst outside of the barracks."

So much for sparing his feelings. Esper's face shifts from an angry red to white with shock. I wonder if I've stepped over the line when he lowered his head, ashamed.

"You're right."

"'Course I am."

"I'm sorry about all this." He gestures vaguely with his hand at the hallway around us. "It's just – I dunno, I never had to live with the fact I might die in a matter of hours. I had a life to live, you know."

" _Have_ a life to live." I interject. "Stop acting like a scared Single."

Esper cracks a small smile, relaxing slightly. "You're right again. But how can I not be scared? I don't want to be shot, or electrocuted, or die..."

"Think of it this way – a lot of people have it worse. For example, I have to reach Borg's forcefield, deactivate it with my witchy magic, all without dying. Because, my young friend, if I happen to die the entire battle is thrown and we're all going to end up as slaves or dead. Sound intimidating yet?"

"Not really."

We sit in silence for a second, Esper visibly calming down. I try to keep my mind on anything but the battle – Borg, Thrace, anything.

"I have a sister at Borg Tower. I _had_ a sister, I don't even know if she's still alive. Borg took her after the arena ploy with Thrace. Whatever happens tomorrow, if I die – to hell with it all, I don't care. I just want to see her again. It seems like it's been years..." I sigh and lean my head back against the wall. Memories of Nya make worry coil in my stomach. "I don't know if Borg tortured her, or worse..."

"If it makes you feel better, I had six siblings." Esper smiles again, an innocent smile that reminds me of home. I haven't seen a smile like that in ages... "I have no idea what happened to them either, so I know what you're feeling."

"Did you check the refugee list?"

"Sure did, but I heard a rumor that Borg captured all the kids at the children's home back at the Complex. We all stayed there after Mom died, and I ran. I was living in the forest and everything like a right tribute before I stumbled across a rebel patrol squad."

"You ran all the way out here?"

Esper grins cheekily, puffing out his skinny chest like some kind of war hero. "Sure did." I didn't give this kid enough credit before.

"That's badass. And... Thanks."

"No problem."

Only seconds later Esper crossed his arms, eyes narrowed like he's trying to figure out some complicated math problem. "How do you do it? Hack into the refugee list, find the flaws in our training? It's like you know some secret mystery of life or something like that."

"Codes. My dad –" My breath hitches and I turn to Esper. "I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone else, okay? Don't go blabbing about it. I just need to get this off my chest."

"Sure, yeah, of course." Esper watches me with rapt attention, probably shocked at this special treatment.

"Back at the Complex there's a place, er, was, where traders could go and exchange goods. Kind of like a not-so-secret black market."

"It sounds familiar." Esper shifts slightly, brow furrowed. He probably wonders what I'm talking about.

"My dad was a trader, and a damn good one too. The thing about trading – you find these codes in everything, patterns that are the lifeblood of our society. You can tell when a person's lying, when they're hiding something. Eventually you get so good at it that everything becomes unlocked to you, the codes visible everywhere. You never noticed them before, and now they've never been so obvious."

Esper laughs softly, almost disbelievingly. "Sounds like magic."

"Maybe it is, I don't know. Anyways, my dad knew codes and he started to take me to the trades, hoping I would follow in his footsteps. Only problem is, trading's illegal. Borg's troops stormed in one day and caught him in the act. The punishment for 'transaction of illegal goods' is pretty steep..."

"What is it?"

I turn to Esper, eyeing him warily. "You really want to know?"

He nods definitively. "Yes."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." I mutter. "For some reason they made me watch, probably to keep me from doing what he did. They tied him to a post, bound his wrists and ankles and tortured him in the most terrible ways... I still can't forget the blood, but he never screamed. Not _once._ " I growl. "He never gave in to Borg, even when he couldn't stand. They broke his bones but not his spirit. I watched Borg wither him down untli he was holding onto life by a string. I couldn't even recognize him..."

I take a moment to collect my breath, fighting off the onslaught of images I've spent so long trying to forget. "I learned how to trade for him and for my family. Everything was for my _family,_ and Borg ripped that from me. I'm going to _kill_ him for it."

Esper places a small hand on my arm. "I know it won't mean anything to you, but I'm sorry."

"From you it means something, kid."

We lapse into silence again before a small alarm peals from the wall port in the barracks. I hear the shuffling motion of the soldiers inside, reacting in seconds like they were waiting for the sound all night. Which, of course, they probably were.

I pat Esper on the shoulder, a hasty gesture of friendship before walking into the barracks. Half of the soldiers are already dressed, who slept in their clothes all night in preparation for this. The others throw on their gear and lace their boots with trembling fingers. As I survey them I can't help but feel a stab of anger towards Thrace. Most of my soldiers are far too young to be charging into battlefield. My eyes pass over each ashen face, every fidget and droplet of sweat on their foreheads. I'm sure I look no better, but they need encouragement now and I'm here to give it.

Fixing a half-smile on my face, I survey the soldiers with every scrap of confidence I can muster. "I know you're thinking, that I'm going to make some bravado-filled speech about kicking around some Nindroids and stuff, but I'll spare you the lies."

I meet Esper's eyes and he nods in affirmation. "I'm not going to sugar-coat this: some of you are probably going to die. And I know that's _super_ encouraging, but it's true. In fact, I might die too, just as easily as the rest of you. I know my charming personality makes it seem like I'm invincible, but I'm not."

A few chuckles spread through the soldiers, lips forming wan smiles. It's as close as I'll get to laughter on a day like this, but I'll take it.

"With this in mind, we're not going down without a fight. All our lives we've been told we're worthless, and what does Thrace do? We're practically leading the storm on the Tower. Pretty good for a bunch of misfits, right?" I jab a thumb at my chest, because if anyone's the misfit here, it's the one who can shoot fire from his hands and hack into wall ports with coding techniques.

"We're going to go out there and fight. Everything Borg's taken from you, everything he's done, this is your chance to fight back. You've never fought back before, have you? Show 'em how we Young Guns do it, huh?" I hearken to our squad's stupid nickname and Esper laughs, rolling his eyes.

"You heard the boss!" Ashe raises her fist in the air, grinning like a fool. "Let's get 'em."

It's not the best motivational speech I could have given, but it's done one thing – our squad is united. We exchange nervous smiles, knowing we're all feeling the same way the other is. We're not divided like Tash's squad was, our oneness brings us together. That's something the other squads can't brag about.

The soldiers line up like it's just another day of practice, shifting from foot to foot and freeing their nervous energy. The other squads are ready as well, their footsteps loud in the thick silence that hangs over the barracks. I stand at the head of the line, examining the soldiers as they wait for the command to go to the hangars.

A loud _ding_ echoes from the four wall ports in the barracks simultaneously, making a few soldiers jump. I gesture with my hand and march out of the barrack, my squad in pursuit, and in what feels eerily like a funeral march we work our way down to the hangars, footsteps pounding on the stairs as we descend into darkness.

 _It's about time,_ I think to myself as the hangars steadily approach, the buzz of conversation now audible as we reach the large bay doors. We've been preparing for this war for far too long – it's time we fight.

Even so, I can't keep away the smallest edge of nervousness. Can I really trust Thrace to lead the soldiers after everything he's done to me and the other tributes? If his ethical values allowed my torture, how would he feel about sending thousands of soldiers to their deaths?

I think back to my conversation with Esper, who so feared dying. If Thrace somehow leads to Esper's death... I'll kill him myself.

With this thought in mind, I open the bay doors, and with it the gates to hell.

 **I swear to you this is the last chapter before we actually get to the battlefield. FINALLY, right?**

 **Thank you all for reading and keeping up with me through this crazy (desperately-needing-to-be-edited) ride, and until next time!**

 ***salutes***


	35. Chapter 35

**Welcome back, wonderful reader!**

 **(There's really ntmuch else to say here so) Read on!**

The same hovercrafts that shuttled the citizens to the rebel base now bring us to war.

I sit with my squad in the cramped hold of the craft, knees tucked up to my chest to make room for the other soldiers squashed against us. As pragmatic as Thrace is, he has as many squads crammed into the ships as he can – to save on fuel or some other excuse, I can't guess.

The real reason is that if we were all seated comfortably, there would be a _lot_ of empty hovercrafts coming back to base.

There are no windows in the hold, so I have no idea how far we've traveled. How far away is the rebel base from Borg Tower, our destination? Whispers and rumors fly through the cramped soldiers, filling the hold with an incessant rustling.

I catch sight of groups of soldiers writing their names on their arms and torsos in pen, so their bodies can be identified posthumously if need be. Their mouths are drawn in grim lines, eyes dark and unfeeling. Some scrawl out notes to loved ones on scraps of paper, shoving the messages in their socks. Others simply sit frozen, completely numbed by the shock. I hear a faint retching in the corner.

Everyone reacts differently to war, especially in the face of it.

The flight's been mostly quiet, no one raising their voices above a whisper. The mood can only be compared to a funeral, reverent and silent but painted with fear in thick brushstrokes. My heart throbs in my chest and I take a deep breath to calm myself.

Bide nods at me from a few seats down, and I give him a faint smile in return. I notice a faint sheen of sweat on his brow. The sight of it unnerves me – the unflappable Bide, shaken.

In the near-silence of the hold, the explosion nearly shatters my eardrums.

The calm is split in two when the hold ruptures with the impact of a shell. Artillery punches through the belly of the hovercraft, metal screaming and tearing. A yawning hole remains, and the limp bodies of soldiers fall through and tumble into the abyss. A silent scream lodges in my throat and shouts fill the hold, panicked cries echoing and reverberating against the walls.

The hovercraft gives a nasty wobble, shaking me from my seat and onto the shoulder of another soldier. I mutter a hasty apology, but it's lost in the general din and panic of the situation. The crowd crushes against me as the soldiers creep away from the tear in the hovercraft's wall. Again the hovercraft swings from side to side in a sickening half-roll, and my stomach turns.

"We're going to have to jump!" Bide leaps on top of a seat and roars above the noise, every inch the put-together leader I've seen so far. The only betrayal of fear on his face is the thin layer of sweat on his brow. "Ming!"

It takes a moment for me to realize he's called me and I leap to my feet, shoving past soldiers until I reach Bide. "What?" My voice cracks with the effort to shout above the roaring wind.

"Can you ensure the soldiers won't turn to pancakes on the ground when they land?"

I nod swiftly, panic writhing within me. Suddenly the mission got a whole lot more interesting – and terrifying. Bide gestures to the gaping hole in the hovercraft's side and I walk over to it, keeping my body pressed against the wall as I sidle over. The wind snaps at my jumpsuit and brings tears to my eyes, but I keep walking until I reach the hole and give Bide a thumbs-up.

He shouts something above the wind and a squad approaches me, eyes dilated with fear but jaws set. I whisper a short spell and nod my head to the squad leader, prominent with his three patches and a confident expression. Calling back an encouraging word to his squad, he reaches the hole and jumps as he hovercraft grinds to a halt. The rest of his squad follows him, arms and legs flailing as they jump.

I risk a glance through the hole and see the soldiers plummet on the edge of the battlefield, falling almost too quickly for my eyes to follow them. Their fall abruptly slows when they reach the ground and they stand, unharmed. Immediately the squad forms ranks and progresses to their station, transitioning to soldier-mode in an instant.

The hovercraft groans and I realize it won't hold us much longer. Bide does too, and he calls out for squads rapid-fire. It's all I can do to keep up with the spells as the soldiers jump like rats fleeing a sinking ship, one crush of bodies rushing for the exit. My vision fades to jumpsuits and patches as the tearing wind until my squad is the only one left. Bide and I exchange relieved grins – then the hovercraft's power cuts out and we start to free-fall.

Hassen releases a holler of alarm and Bide grabs his arm, tugging him to the exit point. All of the soldiers sprint past me, leaping through the torn metal as I cast the protection ward, the hovercraft approaching the ground at a frightening speed. Once I've checked that everyone's gone I jump out of the hole myself, reaching the ground in mere seconds.

A hand latches onto my arm and drags me out of harm's way as the hovercraft comes crashing down to the earth, exploding in a fireball that singes my hair and the front of my jumpsuit. The blast throws me back against Bide, hand still gripping my arm, and a plume of smoke rises from the wrecked ship that could blot out the sun.

"The pilots..." I gasp, and Bide shakes me lightly.

"Let's get to our attack position." Which, translated, means _they're gone._

We have no time to grieve as my squad works our way to our position near the front lines, and soon the terrain becomes familiar. A group on Nindroids come our way and instinct takes over. Asa raises his gun and shoots the robot in its optical port, then rolls as Leon fires a bolt of electricity through its skull. Bide takes care of the second robot, and with a tearing motion I rip the last two Nindroids into scrap metal.

"Not bad." Asa grins at me, then flies backwards as a slug catches him in the shoulder.

I scream and run forward, pressing my hand against the bleeding wound. With a few muttered words I stitch the skin together, reworking the muscle and bone back into one again, and Bide drags Asa to his feet with a growl.

"Pay attention!" He yells, and Asa winces. The effect of the magic has drained my energy slightly, but adrenaline pumping through my veins makes up for it. My heart pounds furiously, my hands still damp with Asa's blood.

The sight of it makes me sick.

The battlefield weaves into a single fight, one Nindroid after the other. A tank tumbles past us, disabled by a fireball in the engine I spawn quickly. The soldiers fight with deadly precision, every shot flying true. We know the terrain better than anyone, ducking behind hills, using the high ground to our advantage, decimating any forces that come at us. To me, the world is bullets and Nindroids and metal and the _stench_ of death that clogs my nostrils.

Panic sets in and my breaths come too short. I fall to my knees, damp mud seeping through the knees of my jumpsuit. Two hands come down on my shoulders and I stare into Bide's eyes, dark and roiling with fire I've never seen before.

"You can do this, Ming. You're stronger than this."

Tears brim at my eyes and I hate myself for it. _I'm stronger that this._ Slowly my panting breaths subside and I get to my feet unsteadily. The squad has reached the top of a major hill, giving us a sweeping view of the battle before us.

Borg Tower sits like a pen thrust into the muddy earth, slightly crooked and far too modern, so unnatural it makes my skin crawl. Before the tower, forming rings of defenses, are rows and rows of Nindroids. Their chrome bodies gleam in the sunlight, bright against the murky forces of the rebels who surge against them, bullets tearing through the ranks of Nindroids as they progress. I see the forms of blade monsters like pure shadows against the shining Nindroids, and tanks tear up soil with their treads. Everywhere bullets fly, screams of the wounded fly to the heavens. I catch sight of a bolt of lightning ricocheting off of a line of Nindroids, and at the front line a firestorm erupts, scorching anything in its path. The magic takes my breath away – its pure emotion, pure hate and rage and a desire like I've never seen before.

I remember that Kai's sister is in the Tower, but never before now realized how fiercely his fire burns for her. And now that the magic's been unleashed...

The plume of fire broils to a white-hot intensity, and the Nindroids melt in the face of the vicious flame.

Rounds of artillery shatter the cries of battle, breaking into the ranks of squads. One lands on a cluster of wounded and I look away, then throw up.

Hassen's hand slips into mine and I wipe my mouth, not willing to meet his eyes. "It's going to be okay." He assures me, and I manage to nod.

"Let's go, people!" Bide rallies us and charges down the hill, firing into a unit of Nindroids attempting to climb up and meet us.

"That man, he's a maniac." Hassen chuckles lightly, then hurries after our leader into hell.

My body resists me for a moment, then I leap forward as well. A single Nindroid to our right is shredded with a quick spell, and I survey the scene for the largest threats. A bellowing roar raises the hairs on my arms and I look up to see the blade monster bearing down on us.

"We meet again." I can't keep an insane grin from my face as I approach the battle-maddened beast. "Let's do this."

I've grown so much with my magical skills since the Games, and this battle proves it. Chanting softly under my breath, I weave a dagger of darkness in the air, tendrils of terror and the essence of the battlefield bleeding into my magic. In one motion I twist the blade, moving my hand with the shadow-formed creation, then stab it into the back of the blade monster.

Metal grinds against metal as the beast's back arches in agony, staggering in its death throes. A deafening roar washes over me, a scream of pain and anger and fear that nearly drives me to my knees. The blade monster tumbles to its side, turning a squadron of Nindroids into thin ribbons of metal as its razor-sharp armor cuts through their ranks. I release the spell for the dagger and a wave of exhaustion passes over me, but I stay on my feet and hurry to the quickly advancing Bide. No one congratulates me this time, no smiles or thumbs-up. Fifteen minutes into war and we're already battle-hardened?

Or has it been an hour? Time bleeds together. _Everything_ bleeds in war.

We reach the forcefield, visible by a faint shimmering in the air and the fact that every squad that's reached here is pooling around a circular area. Borg's final stand is aligned behind the wavering wall, endless rows of Nindroids, too many tanks to count.

And human soldiers. They stand ready for us, guns drawn and ready to fire. _They honestly want to kill us._

Voices buzz to life in my ear and I start with shock, then remember my comlink. Jay's normally energetic voice is shell-shocked and dull, a sound that nearly breaks my heart when I hear him speak.

"This is Jay, in position. Repeat, I am in position."

The trundling of tires rumbles behind me and I see a massive machine of war thunder its way to the forcefield. It's built like a strange tank, with multiple cannons on the top and enormous tires on the bottom, fitted almost like a car. The wheels are taller than I am, with shock absorbents coiled in the underbelly of the machine. A pinprick of a laser dances across the forcefield, an aiming system for the tank's massive guns. "This is Zane, reporting that I am in position."

"Cole, in position."

"Kai, in position. Let's light this sucker up."

Lloyd and I both radio in our assent at the same time, and immediately the charge of the air shifts. The snapping of lightning rumbles over the tank's purring engine, blackening the sky and casting strobe-like lights across the battlefield. Strokes of pure white stab into the forcefield, casting showers of sparks over the ranks of the soldiers.

Fire swirls above my head, lacing its way across the forcefield with such heat and intensity that my eyes water and I have to shield my gaze. Strands of blue-tipped flames crisscross each other and burrow into the forcefield, stretching cracks across the dome. Cheers and roars like I've never heard before thunder from the soldiers, every voice raised in praise as the forcefield sways half an inch.

My heart leaps as ice crawls up the forcefield, clashing against the fire and digging into the broken forcefield, blasting at the whole parts. Snow flutters down from the sky and the temperature drops a few degrees as the ice works its way around the dome, mingling with the other elements in a harmony that's all too _right._

Finally an earthquake brings the entire rebel army to its knees, shuddering in violent waves that cause the forcefield to buckle, leaning in on itself and collapsing slowly in. A blast of pure gold strikes the forcefield as it falls – Lloyd, his elemental magic so powerful it causes me to gasp – and the forcefield implodes on itself, shattering and collapsing on the waiting army of Nindroids.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Let's get 'em!"

 **Dun dun dunnn! By the way, am I the only one who can quote every Olympic commercial because they play them _over and over again?_ **

**"And you thought we just made the gas." Ugh.**

 **Until next time!**


	36. Chapter 36

**Hey hey it's a new chapter of FP! Like... Usual. After all, it is Friday (and thank all the good things above for that.)**

 **So what are you waiting for? Strap on your armor and pick up your weapon, soldier, because we're going to war.**

Chapter Thirty Six – Lloyd

Everything seems to go right, which makes me nervous.

Besides the compounding factors of Nindroids on your tail, the whiz of bullets and the shatter of mortar shells above your head, and the fear that pumps through you with enough intensity that you may very well crap your army-issued jumpsuit.

My squad clusters together despite Phil's efforts to get us to spread apart, keep hold over a wider area. The proximity gives me strength, being close to one another in a world where the very dirt of the ground seems like it wants to kill you. Phil's barking commands drill into my ears like a hostile attack, bawling commands over the world crumbling around our ankles. That's what it feels like, at least.

"Sabina! Get over there and man your territory!"

Sabina gives me a glance of pure horror and peels away from my side, her hands white-knuckled on her gun. I see the flash of metal on the rise of the next hill and discreetly summon a little lightning, shorting out the Nindroid's circuits before it can fire on us.

In the hell that is the battlefield, I somehow find strength in my newfound abilities. Back in Army I was just another kid with a gun, but now I feel... _Empowered._ I have defenses that Nindroids can't accommodate, skills that can protect me if need be. The power stirs within me, tied to the war around us like strings.

It's hard to explain, like the elements respond to my touch, fashion themselves to my liking as I call upon them. I can tug lightning down from the sky and stir fire in the metal guts of a tank like I'm manipulating real objects... Ming probably knows the science and crazy magic behind it all, but I'm focused on keeping my squad alive as we walk over the line that used to be the forcefield, which has now crumpled to dust. _Sorry about that, Borg._

Phil knows we're scared, and I'm sure he is too, but he does a remarkably good job of hiding it. He's a rallying presence for our squad, and I find myself drawn to his orders, the skill at which he commands us. So far no one in my squad has been killed, although two have been seriously wounded. I remember with a grimace the bolt of energy coursing from the Nindroid that tore through one of my squad-mate's ribs – with another grimace I realize I don't remember his name. We're practically on the front lines, so it's thanks to a hovercraft full of luck, and Phil's skill, that so many of us are still alive.

The Nindroid advance is frightening, a sea of metal rushing down the hills from Borg Tower with the sheer intention to destroy. Tanks tear through squads, blade monsters like the ones in the Games slicing soldiers into ribbons. I'm surprised the battlefield isn't slick with blood.

I must be going into shock, because the sight of the grisly wounds and blood-caked dirt doesn't faze me. Every second I'm looking forward, looking to the next mission, the next Nindroid, the next hill.

As I watch explosions ripple through the sea of robots swarming us. A tank charges over the hill, crushing a squadron of Nindroids and spinning its barrel rapidly to decapitate even more. I wonder if Zane is the one who's steering it, and when a blast of ice freezes an entire legion of robots ahead of us I know my suspicions are confirmed.

Thinking on the battlefield isn't like thinking in real life, methodical and precise with one event falling after another. Instead everything melts together from the pressure of shock and fear. I fire bullets left and right, and bullets are fired back at me. Fire and ice swirl from my hands, lightning sparking through the rows of Nindroids as one after the other topple like dominoes.

I realize in the moment that Thrace was right about the war. Nuclear warheads and soldiers would be good enough, but it's us, the tributes, who are the deciding factors of the war. A bullet can take out one Nindroid, but the ice that creeps up and freezes the robot's circuitry? I can take down at least fifty with one blast.

It's funny how I didn't realize it until now. All the talk in the rebel base about the amazing tributes and how we're so powerful seemed to buzz through my head like mindless drivel, but as I see the damage we tributes are inflicting... We can turn the tide of this war.

The power incredible, but the fear makes me humble. I can freeze fifty robots, but one of their bullets can take me down. I have one goal, and that's Borg Tower.

A scream echoes above the din and I turn to see Sabina frozen in terror on the ground, the barrel of a gun inches from her face. A Nindroid stands over her, blank and emotionless as always. Its finger twitches to the trigger...

My body reacts and I yank a bolt of lightning from the sky, shattering the Nindroid's upper half into dust. Sabina screams even louder and covers her head as shrapnel dusts her shoulders, but she's safe for now.

Phil marshals us forward over another hill, and I recognize every indent and ridge in the terrain. Moreover, I feel the power of the earth pulse beneath my heels, waiting for my call. Unable to resist the urge, I tug a shelf of rock out of the ground and a group of Nindroids go flying as a pillar thrusts itself up from the earth. A tank rams full-force into the rock and crumples like a tin can, and the crunch seems loud enough to wake the dead.

"Nice one, Lloyd." Cole remarks over comms. "Let's show 'em what we tributes can do."

The smile fades from my face when I see the soldiers climbing up the adjacent hill. They're not Nindroids with enhanced weapons or armor. They're not tanks, they're not blade monsters. They're so, so much worse.

They're people, eyes full of hatred and fear, and they raise their guns to fire. Shots ring out and my squad staggers, shocked and unable to find cover.

Next to me, Zaria falls to her knees, red blooming across the front of her jumpsuit.

The world turns to tinny ringing in my ears and cold. I abandon my post and run to Zaria's side, clutching her hand in mine and applying pressure to the wound. Her face is pale and her eyes fearful as she grips my hand so tightly I fear the bones will break. Her lips form the trace of a word and I struggle to discern it...

 _Why?_

"Zaria, no, you're going to get out of this. Medic!" I scream, staring into her wide eyes. Zaria struggles for breath and I can feel her grip slackening. Phil's hand grasps my shoulder and shakes it slightly, pulling me back to my senses.

"She's gone, Lloyd. We need to move."

When I look back, searching Zaria's face for any sign of life, I know that he's right. I want to move, but my legs are leadened and as unresponsive as Zaria is. I've never seen someone die in my _life,_ never held their hand as the fight trickled out of their eyes.

I want to puke and cry and scream at the same time, but now I have to fight. _For Zaria._

Raising my gun, I direct it at the nearest Nindroid and release a storm of bullets, mingled with the snap of electricity and burning fire, the rumble of an earthquake and the biting cold of frost. Every ounce of my new power pours across the battlefield, a flurry of gold that sears my eyes and chars the stone of my heart. I'm empty inside, and my powers reflect that.

Across the battlefield Nindroids and humans alike drop. Some just crumble to ash, but the rest collapse like a tide. I'm frozen to the spot while the wave of death rolls over the crowd. Rebels watch with shock as entire squads of Borg's soldiers and Nindroids tumble to the ground. The last of the human ranks nearest to the Tower are left standing, but the rest of them...

I turn and gag, the stench of death clogging my nostrils. My body is in betrayal of what I've just done, how many people I've just _killed. Would Zaria be proud now?_

"Remind me never to piss you off." Phil gives me an appraising glance. "Just a little more, soldier. Let's finish this."

 **Short chapter, I know. Hopefully it'll tide you over for another week? *smiles winsomely***

 **That's all folks. Until next Friday! :)**


	37. Chapter 37

**Sorry for two days late posting, life came up :)**

 **I'm actually shell-shocked, because this is the last official chapter of FP. WHATT?! How did we get here?**

 **Read on!**

Chapter Thirty-Seven – Kai

After Lloyd's creepy death wave there aren't many soldiers left on the battlefield, but the ones who are put up a hell of a fight.

I don't know what concoction of hate and revenge Borg's stirred up in their guts, but they are dead-set on mowing every single one of us down. _Dead-set_ literally, as bodies fold all around me, shells ripping through their ranks.

Maybe I thought I was a tough guy, some big-shot who could deal with war like a bona fide soldier. Everyone's scared, that I could admit to our tribute Kumbaya session. But being in the face of war changes you, with the maggots and the bloodstains and the screams of the dying, and I'll never scrub the images from my head as long as I live.

Most of all it fills me with purpose. Back at the base training was always a priority – keeping myself alive with Rhys and Tash, then doing everything in my power to keep my squad alive as well. I'll admit, and I hate myself for it, I forgot about Nya for a while. It's sickening and despicable, but true.

I guess we're all sickening and despicable on the inside. Nya's stuck up in the Tower somewhere, Borg having done god knows what to her, and here I am worthless on the battlefield.

So I make myself useful. Every blast of fire that strips the soldiers to their bones is for her. Every death, every last breath pushes me a few inches closer. Being without Nya is a physical ache I hadn't realized until far too late, a burning shame that fuels my fire even more.

And who put her there?

I can't stay mad at Thrace, but it's all to easy to. As soldiers collapse to the dirt left and right, I can only imagine Thrace burying them, stabbing the knife in their backs as they willingly throw their lives away for him. Now I realize I was so close-minded before, cursing him for putting me through hell in training. But this, _this_ is hell, and he might as well be killing all of the soldiers before me.

If Nya dies because of him – if he harms anyone I've grown to love through this mess of a Games – then he'll have to face me again. And this time, I'll be the one doing the shooting.

These thoughts stir me on as I push my squad forward. We memorized the terrain long ago, the problem is getting to cover in time. Having the soldiers actually fight is turning out to be more of a struggle than I thought as well. They cling to each other, staggering about in a pack like frightened children. Which, of course, they are, but on the battlefield I need them to be something more. A few barked orders and they're in ready positions, but I can't order the fear out of their eyes. I can't will away the death that clouds the battlefield around us.

The _zing_ of fire erupts around us and my squad scatters, ducking behind boulders, hills, the bodies of their fallen friends. Only one remains standing, paralyzed in place, and a cry lodges in my throat when I see who it is.

Esper, with his sleeves rolled up because they didn't have a jumpsuit in his size. Esper, clutching his pistol with white knuckles, whose finger refuses to budge on the trigger as an enemy soldier looms over him, aiming for Esper's chest. Esper is paralyzed with fear, the reality of war crashing around him. I see his eyes shatter and his hope deflate in a fraction of a second as he snaps.

I wonder if the soldier will hesitate when he sees that Esper is just a kid, too young to be killing and shooting. Then again, Lloyd himself proved this is a tributes' war. But _oh god, not Esper._

I'm just as shocked as Esper is, frozen. My promise breaks with Esper's spirit. I was going to keep him safe, I was going to get him out of this. He was going to get home and eat ice cream and lose ball games, do things a kid his age should. And I, his only hope, failed him.

Borg's soldier's finger twitches on the trigger, and a figure leaps forward with athletic grace, throwing himself in the way of the bullet as it explodes from the gun. The figure fires at the same time, twin explosions. Both lurch, stagger. Borg's soldier falls first, and the figure stands over him for a moment, triumphant, before falling as well.

I didn't see Thrace's approach, but now he lies dead on the battlefield. The shock renders me frozen like Esper, a hush sweeping over the battlefield as the body collapses to the ground. Thrace, leader of the rebels. Thrace, who I had despised for so long.

 _He sacrificed himself for Esper._

Perhaps I snap as well, every string of code, every assumption about Thrace I've been weaving up to now shattering in this one gesture. Thrace tortured me, sent these soldiers to death. And he sacrificed himself for only one.

The comms explode in my ear as Watson takes charge, but I ignore the voices and haul Esper to his feet. Words slip from my mouth, _come on, we need to move,_ but everything's a blur. The world hangs in shock – Thrace, dead? But war stops for no one, and Esper knows this as well as I do. We keep moving, charging for the doors.

A cluster of squads join us as we dart over the final stretch. I see Lloyd come up next to my squad. He makes eye contact with me and runs closer. He looks like he wants to say something, but settles with a firm nod as his squad runs alongside mine. Together we clear away the last of Borg's fighters and shatter the doors, a flood of soldiers overwhelming the Tower.

There should be something proverbial about crossing the threshold into the Tower, but everything frilly and metaphorical has been stripped away by the cruelty of warfare. I lean my head back and observe the sweeping ceiling of the lobby. It's vaguely familiar from my stay in the Games, but the structure seems spartan and sharp now, too clean and too neat for the bloodstains and grief that cakes the battlefield.

I feel a pinch in my arm and run a finger over the spot where my tracker lies. It may be deactivated, but the memories of the Games will never fade. Even so, it burns in my arm like a hot coal, a sharp reminder of how cruel Borg can really be. If the bodies outside don't suffice, of course.

My squad and Lloyd's take the stairs. Even though we've never rehearsed actually taking over the Tower, vengeance swarms over the soldiers like a tidal wave. We want to send bullets into every pristine vase and prim-looking floral arrangement. The Tower is a funeral, stark white flowers on black coffins.

Emotions surge over me as I sprint up the stairs, my squad surrounding me. Our expressions mirror the next, set with grim determination. Footsteps pound in a silent symphony, trumpeting our victory as we ascend. Destruction and death trails in our wake, and I'm glad that it does. We come as a tide, pushing our way forward against the gates of hell.

Every time we turn a corner I wonder if Borg or Nya will be standing there, waiting for us. I can imagine both of them waiting with grim anticipation of what fate befalls them. Will Borg kill her as his empire crumbles beneath him? Will she be mistaken for one of Borg's soldiers and be shot? These thoughts fill me with panic and I push myself faster. I need to find her first, to set things ring.

The pinch in my arm has turned to a steady burn and I pause for a moment to pull my sleeve back and see if anything's wrong. What I see next stops me in my tracks, and one of Lloyd's squadmates slams into my back.

The skin around my tracker is raw and red, but that's not what scares me the most. Raised black veins trace their way up my forearm, pulsing with each beat of my heart. Panic rolls over me and I lean against the wall for support, then raise my head when faced with the grim reality.

Turning on my heel, I grab Esper's shoulders and tug him closer. "You're squad leader now. Congratulations on the promotion, soldier."

His eyes go wide, staring at me with childlike innocence. "Why? What's wrong?"

"There's something I have to take care of." I reply, signaling to my troops. They watch as I tear the third patch from my arm and place it in Esper's hand. _I guess things really do come around full circle._ The kid doesn't take long to adjust to leadership, gesturing the soldiers forward as they continue to storm up the stairs.

Lloyd runs up aside me. I don't have to explain as his eyes fall on the black tracing its way up my arm. His jaw drops and the blood drains from his face. "No. What...?"

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, trying to control my breathing. "You remember Daphnes, right?"

"But this isn't the arena! How is this happening?"

"The tracker." I reply bitterly, releasing a short laugh. "Borg's failsafe. When we came to rescue Daphnes, he hit the kill switch."

"But mine..." Lloyd's hand clutches his arm, surely feeling the puckered scar beneath his jumpsuit.

"Extracted, remember?" I point to my forearm. "Deactivated. A hell of a lot of good it did me."

My knees go weak and I slide to the stairs. Lloyd grabs my shoulders and eases me down, fear and pain sparkling in his eyes. "No. It's going to be fine. We're going to find an antidote. We _will."_ He says it so emphatically I wish I could believe it. We both know it's just talk, though. We both know what happens next.

"Nya... I'm never going to see her again, am I?" I murmur half-deliriously. Now is not the time to lose my wits, but everything seems to become hazier and the poison follows its course to my heart. Seconds tick down like explosions, shattering my eardrums with their volume. I wince and Lloyd sets his jaw, trying to keep it from trembling.

I appreciate that he's here, but I don't want him to see me like this. Kai the soldier, useless to his squad. Kai the fighter, who finally gave up. Every scrap of bravado and pride is gone as my life bleeds away on the stairs to Borg Tower.

Hopelessness swells within me and I swear like there's no tomorrow, hoping the language will give me some modicum of strength. "I just wanted to see her again, that's all I wanted, Lloyd. She's all that mattered, and I forgot about her, I've failed _everyone."_

"No, don't say that..." He urges, shaking my shoulders slightly.

"It's true." I retort. "I failed Nya. I failed Thrace. I failed the rebels. I failed my soldiers, I failed you. Name someone and I've let them down. I was supposed to make a difference. That's why they saved us, isn't it?"

"Shut the _hell_ up!" Lloyd roars, snapping me back to my senses. I try to focus on him, but his features slip and in and out of focus. "Don't you _ever_ say you failed us. You took down the forcefield. You have elemental magic, which is more than everyone on the battlefield can say. Your squad is one of the most elite in the base. Why else do you think they would send a sniper squad to the front lines? You're a genius with codes and strategy, _and_ you get the girl. Everyone wants to kiss you or kill you. You call that a failure?"

I roll my head to the side, trying to puzzle out his words. "I get the girl? What are you talking about?"

"Nevermind that." Lloyd shakes his head, although a faint blush colors his cheeks. "Just... Don't say you're a failure. You'll see your sister again, I know it."

"You're saying that to comfort me in my dying moments. The sentiment is appreciated." I drawl, and Lloyd scowls.

"I'm _not._ Do you think I would be talking to a lost cause?"

I can't keep the smirk from my face. "Ah, the mysterious golden ninja. Maybe your godlike powers can chop off my arm or something." Reaching forward, I grasp his sleeve with weak fingers. "Lloyd, I'm going to die here. And not even in a brave way. Poison? I mean, come on."

He smiles – a wan smile, but a smile nonetheless. "I need you to be my will, okay? Can you remember this?"

"Yes. Yeah, I'm ready."

"Okay. Tell Nya she was never gone from my mind, and I'm so sorry I couldn't see her in person, I'm sorry..."

And the tears come slowly, a single drop on my bloodstained jumpsuit. The feeling is alien, heat surging behind my eyes and fire tearing through my veins. I haven't cried since the day my father died at the hands of Borg, and now here I am dying in the same way.

In a strange way it feels good. Every ounce of pain and misery escapes me in that single tear, every hope and dream and fear I had to hide from view. In front of Lloyd I cry unashamedly.

"I always figured it would be different. Maybe even today. Just take a shot to the chest, maybe to the leg for a harder way out. Not poison, not with a kid leading my squad. Everything's backwards, everything's wrong. It's all wrong, Lloyd."

He bows his head, and my hand falls from his sleeve. My limbs seem heavy and light at the same time, and my fingers are trembling uncontrollably. From fear or a side effect of the poison, I don't know. I fix Lloyd's gaze with mine, eyes locking briefly before he drops his gaze. Too ashamed to confront a dying man, I suppose.

"You need to be up there with the rest of the lot. Go be the green ninja or whatever you call yourself. Go save lives the lives I never can. Never could."

"Kai, I can't leave you here."

I sigh, rolling my eyes at him. "Oh, drop your nobility and morals for a second, will you? You know as well as I do you're more help up there than down here. _Go."_

It's an order from soldier to soldier, from friend to friend. Lloyd turns away, tears dampening his gaze. He clasps my hand once in a goodbye, then hurries up the stairs and out of sight. I hear the faintest snuffling sob as he leaves. _Lloyd, joining the broken._

The poison is excruciating, like molten lava searing my flesh. With clumsy fingers I tear away the sleeve of my jumpsuit to reveal raised black veins extending their tendrils up my bicep, nearly reaching my shoulder. I grimace and suck in a deep breath, trying to keep my mind off of the extremely thought-provoking fact of my impending death. The thought is so comical I laugh out loud, echoing faintly in the empty hallway. Of course I would be this melodramatic. But what isn't melodramatic about an empty hallway and poison?

It rankles me that I'll go out this way. A bullet would be more fair, the image of a proper soldier. But poison? I was always expendable after the forecefield fell. Maybe I was kidding myself in thinking that I was important enough to matter.

I keep my eyes trained on the wall, the hazy scuff-marks of boots on the steps. Anything but the rising poison, black as midnight. I wanted to tell them things. I wanted to tell Lloyd he's stronger than he realizes. That Cole is far more clever than he gives himself credit for. I'm sure Jay and Zane have heard the world gush over them for so long, but every word of it's true. And Ming...

Lloyd was wrong. I guess I don't get the girl after all.

 _Nya._ Everything comes back to her. What will she say when she sees me? Her brother, the coward? He couldn't even save her himself.

Lights twinkle over my vision, sparks and strobe-like flashes. The poison's reached up my arm, piercing my heart. Stone shatters in my chest and I slump over on the wall, feeling my eyelids droop.

In the end I'm not afraid. Everything has its beginning and its end. Codes start and stop, wars begin and end. Lives are won and lost. This isn't death, it's just... The next step.

And I welcome it.

The curtain falls. And everything is nothing at all.


	38. Epilogue

**WE MADE IT.**

 **READ ON!**

Epilogue – Ming

It's over.

The whole idea of the war being _over_ is simply unreal. After all the death I've seen, after all the pain and the desperate slaughter, nothing will ever return to normal again.

Despite all of this, it somehow does. Everything is a blur to me, a haze of adrenaline and a thousand emotions that turn my heart to stone. Rattled ranks of soldiers pour into hovercrafts and are shuttled back to the rebel base to meet friends and identify the fallen. A hot meal awaits me when I return, but I push it away.

Everything's the same again, except for the lobby. The lobby is filled with the dead.

I've gotten used to the smell, the tears and the wails when a family member is spotted, when a best friend lies among the unmoving ranks. I stand beside the rest of the tributes, with my fingers entwined with Lloyd's. Before the war I'm sure he would be bothered by this, but now we both need the support.

My eyes graze over the crowds, the anxious, tear-streaked faces. I spot groups of soldiers searching for dogtags, messages written on the bodies of soldiers too mutilated to be recognizable. A few skirt over the fallen, nimble fingers slipping into pockets, removing wedding rings and charms.

One squad surrounds a single body, grasping each other's hands. Their heads bow in silent honor, crying without shame. I don't need a closer look to know it's Kai's squad. shoulders tight with grief, shaking.

A young girl walks up to us, maybe Zane's age. Her features are vaguely familiar, cut harshly with grief and terror. Her clothes are fresh and new, probably provided by some Service worker. I wear my bloodstained jumpsuit with pride. Nya, Kai's sister, watches with a blank expression.

I know how much he mattered to her, but those words fell on deaf ears when we rescued her. Now she's stone as well, emotionless. _Broken._

Nothing needs to be said, so we remain silent. Remembering the dead, respecting what they've done. The world doesn't seem to be reborn, not in this mausoleum. So many have been lost today. But how many more have been saved?

The thought is such a Thrace-like one I almost smile. Thrace lies among these low-ranking soldiers, flanked by Singles. In a way, he lies as he died. Selfless. Honorable. Not at all how I imagined him to be. The fact surprised all, and most of all us tributes. I'm forced to admit that perhaps I was wrong about the whole Thrace business – perhaps I'll never really understand it.

There's been talk of elections, but the remaining Command leaders have unanimously decided that Garmadon and Wu will rise to lead our new world. I can't think of a better choice. They'll do well, I'm sure, and all of the politically-inclined members of the rebels are clamoring about their new laws and institutions to do away with everything Borg.

I guess we're not rebels anymore, are we? Just ordinary people in a world that's anything but. Shaken by war, occupied by certain citizens with magical abilities. A dictator has fallen, the ex-rebels are scrambling, but we're making progress. Soon we'll be on our feet again, Wu has promised. Soon we'll be safe.

But I'll never be safe from the nightmares that plague me, washed in gore and a hail of bullets and faces of the dead. The rebel base is a sleepless one. Maybe it always will be.

Wu and Garmadon promise new growth, new locations, new everything. We try to distance ourself as much as we can from the horror of Borg and the twisted legacy he's left behind. One thing's for sure, though – no one will ever fear a Reaping again.

We all try to start fresh. Cole's up to his ears in work with Command, planning the new city we'll call home. Zane and Jay work around the clock with electricity, generators, anything that will get the rebels back on their feet again. And deactivating all of the missiles, of course. Lloyd gives a helping hand wherever he's needed, which is basically everywhere. I see him in the Service quarters often, bandaging wounds and providing comfort to the wounded soldiers.

As for me, I have plans for the future. Clouse and I have been vigorously scanning the population for anyone with magical capacities. This time people with our gifts won't be feared or hunted in the Games. They'll prosper under guidance, and they'll learn to use their skills, not hide them like I had to. It's a bright future on paper, and I want to see it come to fruition.

We're breaking new ground, burying the past and turning our eyes to the future. No one says it will be easy, but it will be worth it. For once in my life I know I'm doing something wholly right. And it feels _good._

Together, with each other's support, we can mend and flourish.

Together we can become whole.


	39. Acknowledgements

Honestly, I don't remember what the previous afterword said. I'll probably repeat 99% of it here, but who really cares? Don't worry, I'll be brief.

There's really two things that need to be said here. Actually, three. The background of this story is cringe-worthy. I started writing it when I was _thirteen_ (and oh, does it show!) I've been on this journey for years now. I've poured countless hours into writing and re-writing, deleting entire chapters and wincing because oh-god-it's-such-a-mess. Which is very true. ToTM is in desperate need of heavy editing, but hey. Let's preserve my ex-thirteen-ness for a while. :)

When I first posted this I didn't know what to expect. But now I've met you lovely, delightful, incredibly insightful readers. You can take an awful, convoluted fic and turn it into something that's so much more. And for that, I thank you. For not giving up on me, for coming back every time you get the e-mail about a new chapter. For believing in me.

In the previous acknowledgments I thanked a few people, but now I want to thank you. Yes, _you._ Virtual high-fives and cookies all around! I cannot believe you stuck around with this story, so many years in the making (and probably a few years in the posting.) That fact actually blows my mind. That you would read this story, ongoing for at least a _year..._ Dedication like that is astounding. Really. You slay.

I can't believe it's over. ToTM and FP have been part of my life for so long now, it's hard to let them go. I'll never post another chapter, have a whirl at those random facts, desperately try to get a review out of you because I'm sure you're tired of my writing bull by now. I'll never write another angsty line from Kai or have Ming cast another spell. No more mixed morals with Thrace. Singles begone, rebels with them. It's over. It's finished.

I won't be melodramatic and say some stuff like "but FP will always live within my heart" because honestly if you haven't dropped your phone and rolled your eyes already you would now :)

Mostly I want to thank you. For the years of steady low reads that prove to my suspicious brother that _see, someone's actually reading it!_ For your dedication and your insight, for your faith in me. For your reviews and your follows, for everything. Thank you for making this multi-year journey not a failure but a success.

One last time, from the bottom of my heart: THANK YOU.

Until next time!


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